


Past the Mourning Sun

by crapoftheworld



Series: Space Cadet [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol, Alien Culture, Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Attempted Worldbuilding, BAMF Lance (Voltron), Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Black Paladin Lance (Voltron), Bonding, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Dark, Dark Voltron, Death, Dick Jokes, Dimensional Travel, Drugs, Druids, Eventual Keith/Lance (Voltron), Exposition, Fight Club - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Foreshadowing, Gratuitous Action Sequences, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Issues, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injured Lance (Voltron), Knives, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Lance (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Lance (Voltron) Has Panic Attacks, Lance (Voltron) Speaks Spanish, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is on his own, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance Has Nightmares (Voltron), Lance is a rootin tootin cowboy, Long Shot, M/M, Mercenary Lance, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Organ Theft, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Pining Lance (Voltron), Plot Twists, Prophecies, Red Paladin Lance (Voltron), References to Drugs, Sharpshooter Lance, Shooting Guns, Slow Burn, Sniper Lance (Voltron), Songfic, Substance Abuse, Swords, Teleportation, Time Skips, Underage Substance Use, Underground Dueling, Violence, Voltron Lion to Paladin Psychic Bond, Voltron Paladin to Paladin Psychic Bond, War, Weird Plot Shit, Yikes, advanced alien race, also technically the fight club is legal, chapter 10 is literally all, dark paladins, google translate is my coauthor, hi Lance is a BAMF lord I love him, i mean maybe you can see this shit coming from a mile away idk, i try to write fight scenes, it's like a magically induced meltdown, kind of, lol, mid/late season 6, molotovs, no beta we die like men, space road trip!, surprise it was the cosmic space wolf, time dilation fuckery, um, weirdass druid magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crapoftheworld/pseuds/crapoftheworld
Summary: His vision blurred from tears and sweat running together and making his eyes sting, and he heard his team screaming his name. They felt far away and he wanted to tell them not to worry, his eyes sluggishly attempting to convey what his clenched jaw couldn’t, but before he could do much of anything, Lance’s view of the desolation Voltron had wrought, of the new Galra fleet, of his fellow Voltron lions, of the giant druid ship with its offensively shaped canon, all faded to darkest black.***Voltron is falling apart. Keith has left, Shiro’s acting weird, and Red is shunning Lance. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Lance gets zapped far away to an alternate reality where he struggles to find his footing. He needs to find his way back to the team, fast, and maybe he’ll find himself along the way. Despite his aversion to cliches, he just can't seem to steer clear of them.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Red Lion (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) & Original Character(s)
Series: Space Cadet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734193
Comments: 310
Kudos: 631





	1. Feeling Shit Again

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This fic is kind of inspired by the song "Space Cadet" by beabadoobee (that's where a few of the chapter titles will be from).
> 
> Just to set the scene a bit: Keith is currently in the abyss with his mom and Clone Shiro is all up in the Castle biz. I kind of fucked up the canon timeline some, but basically the fight scene that this fic opens on is happening instead of Lotor and Allura entering the quintessence field in S6E4 ("The Colony"). Everything after that will probably only loosely follow canon, if at all.
> 
> Anyways, I wrote this to give Lance the badass solo journey he deserves because he's my favorite and I love him! We're looking at a double-digit chapter count and a lot of angst, friends. I'll update tags and the chapter count as I go, since I'm writing based on a very bare bones outline.
> 
> That's all I've got for now ;P

Lance hated cliches. Detested them. If he was being honest, a startlingly large amount of his escapades in outer space had ended up going the way of those old science fiction DVDs he’d managed to scrounge up from the attic of his family home in Cuba.

Speaking of back home, his experience had always been somewhat refreshing back on Earth. He worked hard to get into the Garrison, he didn’t get some golden ticket or stroke of luck. He met Pidge and Hunk, both of whom were so animated and different from anyone Lance had ever met that it was impossible to ever feel as if he didn’t belong. He was never the best pilot, never the top of his class, and he didn’t have any of the characteristics of the quirky teenage protagonists from the animated shows his niece and nephew used to love.

And of course, on that fateful night, the beginning of Voltron, Keith _had_ to go and subvert every single cliche even in the one instance that Lance wouldn’t have minded at all if they went ahead and had a classic long-time-no-see-let’s-be-badasses reunion.

What with the Robeasts, the magical aliens, and the beautiful space princess, it was a wonder none of the paladins had had any existential crises or giant meltdowns yet. Hell, even the space prince was beautiful, a walking commercial for, like, expensive-ass dry shampoo or something. _How do you have hair like_ that _in space? How do you maintain that shit when you’re running an empire?_

Lance wouldn’t blame any of his friends if they thought it was weird, but apparently Lance was the only one picking up on the general strangeness of their lives as defenders of the universe. 

Lance could make a direct and well supported comparison between his life and a subplot from _Star Trek_. Or _Star Wars_. Or _Power Rangers_. Holy crow, he’d spent a lot of time watching that old junk with Nadia and Sylvio. In their immortal and very true words, he was _“El mejor tío de todos!”_ Though Lance supposed that accolade had gone to Marco in his absence.

The point being, there were moments in his admittedly outlandish existence in which he felt sort of disconnected from reality. Moments where everything felt like a dream, where the world looked the slightest bit more surreal.

Usually when he felt that unease, he would sit on the observation deck and watch stars that he didn’t know the names of float lazily by as the Castle Ship drifted during their night shift. If Lance was lucky, Keith would join him after he had showered, bring him some food or a blanket, and they’d cuddle together under the vast expanse of the universe.

Just two boys trying to make the weight of the universe on each other’s shoulders a little easier to bear.

They never spoke of their late night emo fests during the day, easily reassuming their roles as Black Paladin and Red Paladin, as the fearless leader and the (slightly more mature than he had been back in the day, Lance hoped) goofball.

Lance hated that Keith left. He understood that Keith wanted, maybe even needed, to know more about his past and his heritage or whatever. Lance felt guilty for thinking it, but Keith had picked the literal worst time to leave. Maybe Lance had been Keith’s stability, but it was a two way street. Lance needed Keith, and it was hard to believe that Keith didn’t know that what with all of the cuddling and stargazing.

So it felt more like Keith had left him, had _chosen_ to leave Lance, despite knowing how Lance felt. But maybe it was Lance’s fault for never really voicing any of this, for taking it all for granted. Because now Keith was gone. And Lance was kind of flailing around without him. The observation deck felt a little bit bigger and a little bit colder without Keith there to ground him.

And right now, as Galra cruisers exploded around him and the cacophony of his friends’ battle cries echoed through their com link, accompanied by matching emotions traveling through the paladin bond and assaulting his brain, he felt that untetheredness more acutely than ever.

Thus far, the battle had been going in Voltron’s favor. It was a simple enough mission, and even without Keith ( _Gods, why did he leave us? Why did he leave me?_ ) it should’ve been impossible to fuck up. It was a small Galra force, just a couple of cruisers and some fighters, nothing they hadn’t handled before.

Kolivan had called the Castle and asked them to intercept the fleet that was about to come through their quadrant. Despite Allura’s displeasure at the interruption to her and Lotor’s very productive Altean magic and ship building bullshit sessions (Lance knew they were spending a lot more time making out than actually working at this point), Kolivan couldn’t spare any Blades so it was an all hands on deck situation. Pidge was getting on board one of the cruisers to run data extraction while the rest of the paladins were the distraction. As soon as Pidge was clear, they would have the green light to destroy the entire fleet.

So here they were. Allura froze some Galra jets on Lance’s tail as he pulled off a complicated Keith-like maneuver, slingshotting around a Galra cruiser and ending up running down the ships that had previously been chasing him. He neatly blasted two with his tail gun while Red chomped into another.

“Nice shot, Allura,” he called over the coms, feeling Red’s growl reverberate through the cockpit. _More fighting, less talking_ , she seemed to say. Lance knew his bond with Red wasn’t as strong as Keith’s had been, but sometimes Lance got the feeling that Red was impatient with him. Like she didn’t fully respect him and had only accepted him out of necessity.

Lance had been meaning to get a bonding session in with Red soon, but things with Lotor and the Coalition had been picking up and he and the rest of Team Voltron had been pretty busy.

Lance peeled away to join Hunk and they turned their attention to one of the battle cruisers that was not currently being infiltrated by a certain green paladin, preparing to go on the offensive once again. Coran called out from the Castle Ship as he and Hunk swooped down on their prey.

“Paladins, a new ship is wormholing into the quadrant right now. It appears to be a Galra ship, but much larger than a normal cruiser! Lotor doesn’t recognize the signature at all, so be prepared for a new enemy!”

Lance used his special fire ray (Heat beam? What does Keith call it?) to destroy the ion cannon just as Hunk slammed Yellow into the side of the cruiser, sending it careening into several smaller Galra ships. The resulting explosion looked fantastic against the backdrop of twinkling stars and had Lance whooping.

“Noted, Coran,” Shiro all but growled as Black brutally dispatched a small squadron of Galra fighters.

Strangely enough, Lance had felt nothing from Shiro through the paladin bond lately. Ever since the astral plane incident on Naxzela, Lance had wondered about him. Lance would’ve loved to be the one to talk to his hero and be there for him like he had for Keith during his brief stint as black paladin, but Shiro had been... prickly as of late. First he reaches out trying to connect with Lance, and then he turns around and snaps at him for no reason, or completely ignores him. Lance just couldn’t seem to find a middle ground with the guy.

“Oh man, you guys, I really hope it’s not a new Robeast,” Hunk whined into the coms. If the worry wasn’t clear from his tone, it certainly bled through the mental bond that the paladins shared. Lance was worried, too. After all, with all of the strange new rifts that had started to emerge between the team, forming Voltron had become more difficult and a less common event in battles.

“Guys, I’m clear, but we’ve got company!” Pidge’s voice rang out, interrupting Lance’s train of thought. He looked around, noting that the battle was all but over and all of the Galra ships had been reduced to cosmic debris save for the last battle cruiser that Pidge had just left. His eyes desperately roved around, trying to find the cause of the gasps he heard through the coms, until his eyes zeroed in on the giant Galra... _What was that?_

It was a spaceship, and it was purple, obviously. Galra color coordination was really something to see. An entire empire spread across multiple galaxies, and they maintained complete uniformity from the shade of purple to the assholishness of their various military personnel. Impressive. Cliche. Fantastical.

Just like that, the creeping unease reared its ugly head, peeking out from the recesses of Lance’s mind like an old friend. He ignored the feeling in favor of gaping at the new Galra ship.

He couldn’t really identify all of the parts of the spacecraft. It looked like a strange amalgamation of every spaceship they’d ever encountered, complete with engines, boosters, and several intimidating gun attachments. Plus the giant phallic looking cannon on the front.

Lance stifled a laugh, because yeah, that gun totally looked like a big fat erect penis. Lance was so enraptured by the appearance of this new spacecraft and the fact that the dick head appeared to be pulsing with purple energy, a trademark of druid magic, that he was nearly hit square in the back by an ion cannon blast. He would’ve been, had it not been for Red moving out of the way on her own, letting out a grumble of annoyance as she did so.

All of the paladins seemed to be just as entranced by the ship as he had been, their lions floating limply in the midst of the graveyard that was the Galra fleet they’d brought down.

Lance turned to face down the last remaining battle cruiser, considering making a dick joke because the silence over the coms was becoming troublesome in his opinion, but just as he was about to launch into action, he felt it.

He’d stopped mid attack, Red floating listlessly amongst the wreckage of battle, Hunk’s worried rambling that had just broken through the silence fading to a dull buzz in the background of Lance’s mind. It was that same weightlessness, that disconnect he felt every once in a while, but multiplied by ten.

He’d never felt his own emotions amplified this much, and he figured it must have been related to Red, seeing as none of the other paladins were reacting to his distress that would normally be projected through the paladin bond.

Maybe he wasn’t connected anymore. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he was relieved to find that he could detect the faint panic from his friends even if it felt muted somehow, as if he were underwater.

Lance opened his eyes again and found himself and Red reeling from a familiar distress that had been gripping Lance’s heart for a long time now, but had only just finally decided to squeeze.

Scratch distress, actually. Lance could still see the dick cannon glowing through his windshield, and an alert popped up on Red’s dash that the battle cruiser Lance had aborted his attack on was now locked onto his ship. And Hunk’s rambling was growing louder, and Allura was shouting something about another Galra fleet approaching, and Pidge was saying some sciencey mumbo jumbo about the impressive design of the cannon, and there was a sinister silence coming from Shiro’s com, and everything was getting louder and crescendoing and Lance’s head _hurt_. So he ripped his helmet off, gulping in the recycled air of Red’s cockpit and wiping sweat from his brow. _When did it get so hot?_

Lance found that he was having trouble trying to grasp at any coherent thoughts, or decide which threat he needed to face, what he should do when it felt like everything was closing in on him and even with his helmet off, he couldn’t _breath_ and Red was still trying to tell him something and Lance _really_ just needed silence to think.

With his mind a whirlwind slowly spiraling out of control, Lance’s general unease morphed into an abstract, abject terror, body-paralyzing and mind-numbing.

The battle had begun raging around him once again. His friends were screaming at him through the coms, their voices coming out tinny and distorted from Lance’s discarded helmet.

Lance could do nothing as the large Galra ship powered up a giant shot of black, fizzling, very dangerous looking lightning. He couldn’t move, but he could feel horror and pain and fear through the paladin bond, diluted and far away feeling. It felt unreal, and Lance had a vague inkling that he was experiencing something very unnatural at the moment. 

If he’d had a clearer mind, if he’d been _less fucking scared_ , trapped like a rabbit in a snare, he might’ve made the connection to the sudden shift in atmosphere in his lion and the druid ship floating menacingly in his field of vision.

But before his aching mind could assemble his scattered thoughts into something he could comprehend, lightning erupted from the cannon and violently streaked across the cosmos of the battlefield. Green, Yellow, Blue, and Black all scattered, and Galra fighters ( _When did more Galra arrive?_ ) parted like the Red Sea, but Lance couldn’t fucking move.

The dark energy connected with Red, and just as Lance realized that his bond with Voltron had been completely severed, he felt an excruciating pain course through his body, almost making him forget about the all encompassing fear he’d just been experiencing.

He was crying, he could tell, and he belatedly hoped his video feed was off because he was an ugly crier and he didn’t want anyone seeing _that_ , but he supposed that would be a problem for future Lance.

The pain in his body grew and grew, his muscles contracting and twitching as energy poured into him. He felt like a science experiment, one that had become fully saturated with searing heat. When the feeling of his body being eviscerated finally overwhelmed his senses so that everything faded away from him and he was left floating, he decided that dying this time around hurt a fuck ton more than any of the other times.

He hoped this would be the last time because he’d just come to the conclusion that he’d rather not do the whole dying thing again.

His vision blurred from tears and sweat running together and making his eyes sting, and he heard his team screaming his name. They felt far away and he wanted to tell them not to worry, his eyes sluggishly attempting to convey what his clenched jaw couldn’t, but before he could do much of anything, Lance’s view of the desolation Voltron had wrought, of the new Galra fleet, of his fellow Voltron lions, of the giant druid ship with its offensively shaped cannon, all faded to darkest black.


	2. Thrown Out To Outer Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance might not be as alone as he thought.

When Lance woke up, he couldn’t decide if he was grateful or not that he’d managed to avoid cliches once again.

Because he didn’t wake up slowly and groggily or jolt awake with a gasp. He honestly didn’t remember waking up, it just felt like he’d never passed out. He would’ve doubted his own sanity if not for the fact that Red was offline because _oh yeah I got blasted to fuck by that crazy druid ship._

Lance’s body still screamed with the aftershocks from the painful electrocution, and when he glanced down at his body he saw blood seeping out from under his flight suit, dripping onto the cockpit floor. Lance frowned at that, confused as to why being shot by magic would cause him to bleed.

Lance discovered that despite the residual pain that made his entire body ache, he had full control of all of his limbs, so he gingerly stood up, stretching leisurely in the blue glow of Red’s emergency lighting.

A cursory glance out the front windshield had Lance doing a double take, because the twinkling stars of the quadrant he’d just been in, _like five seconds ago_ , were no longer.

In fact, there didn’t appear to be any movement whatsoever, just a few distant pinpricks of light. No scraps of metal. No lions. No dick cannon.

Lance didn’t really have any idea what had happened, but he was already working on a theory that involved the druids figuring out how to weaponize wormholes. He didn’t appear to be in any mortal danger though, so he just hoped his friends would be alright without him while he figured out how to get back from wherever the hell he was now.

He couldn’t contact the team yet until Red rebooted, and Lance had no idea how long that would take, so he decided the best course of action would be to check out the reason he was bleeding all over Red’s interior.

He patted her dashboard absentmindedly as he began the arduous process of stripping off his armor and flight suit to assess the damage.

The armor came off without any problems, but when he got to the flight suit he found that it had basically become fused to his skin with dried blood, and peeling it off was positively excruciating.

Lance didn’t really know what to expect, but when he was down to his boxers and staring at a messy crisscross of lacerations all over his chest, stretching across his back, it was not that.

It looked like a child had scribbled all over his body with a red crayon, and Lance’s first thought was that if he didn’t get back to the Castle and get into a pod real soon, he was going to have some nasty scarring to look forward to.

His second thought was _how the fuck did the magic dick cannon do that?_

And he decided to huff his third thought out loud for Red’s listening pleasure, even if she wasn’t online right now to appreciate his voice.

“Motherfucking druids, man.”

Lance cautiously made his way to the cargo bay of his lion. Bending over to root around for the emergency first aid kit was a real bitch and Lance was pretty sure his back was literally flayed, but he managed to grab the kit before collapsing onto the flat metal surface that each lion had in its cargo bay. He thought they were supposed to be beds, but he’d never had use for them before.

After carefully cleaning the wounds, from what Lance could see, it turned out they were pretty shallow. He’d lost a fair amount of blood due to the shear number of cuts, but the injuries themselves weren't life threatening.

In fact, the sensation reminded Lance of when he had donated his blood for Abuelo back in the third grade. He’d insisted since everyone else was doing it and Lance McClain wasn’t going to stand by and _not_ help.

He remembered closing his eyes when the nice nurse wiped an alcohol pad on his upper arm, the flinch as a needle punctured his skin, the wooziness afterwards (and the funeral and the crying a few days later).

This felt like that, but slightly worse. _So nothing to worry about_ , Lance decided as he carefully smeared his small supply of Altean healing gel over his chest and back before wrapping his upper body in a fresh dressing.

It was kind of strange that the chicken scratch cuts were only on his chest and back -- as far as he could tell, his arms, neck, and everything below his solar plexus remained unscathed.

 _Not strange, fortunate_ , Lance amended with a sigh.

He took a moment to relax and collect his thoughts, before straightening up. Lance was coming up on fifteen minutes of being far away from Voltron, exactly where he didn’t belong.

He hoped the druids hadn’t managed to hit anyone else while he was gone. On the other hand, if they were teleported out here with him, he wouldn’t mind the company.

Then again, Lance wouldn’t wish the pain he’d experienced a mere twenty minutes ago on anyone.

_Enough sitting around, I need to get back to the team._

“Alright, Red. Next order of business is getting you up and running.”

Even as Lance said this, he had his doubts. He knew some bare bones engineering from his time at the Garrison, and he’d learned the basics of a few coding languages through osmosis (it was times like these that Lance was thankful for the early mornings in the kitchen with Pidge and Hunk, listening as they bickered like mad scientists).

He shuffled back into the cockpit, disappointed to see that Red was no closer to recovering on her own.

“Let’s see what we got, girl,” Lance said as he pulled a panel off of the right side of the dashboard, exposing manual controls.

A quick once over revealed that the mess of wires he’d found were completely fried. Lance guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised by his bad luck at this point. He knew that blown manual controls weren’t the end of the world, it just meant there was literally nothing he could do. It was all up to Red now.

So Lance slumped back into his pilot's seat, feeling sorry for himself. He supposed all things considered, it wasn’t the worst situation. Sure, he was stranded in the middle of nowhere with an unresponsive lion, but he had life support systems and he wasn’t bleeding out.

 _Or, like, dead._ Lance prided himself on his ability to look on the bright side.

His body had long since stopped pulsing with pain, so he simply sat back, watching the emergency lights blinking on the dash and hoping Red would come back online soon. A few hours passed, and Lance felt his eyes grow droopy.

He decided there was no harm in catching a few Z’s while he waited, so he willingly descended into sleep’s sweet embrace.

***

Lance woke up ten hours later to the sound of shrill klaxons.

He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and winced at the crick in his neck as he lifted his chin from his chest, wiping his drool off self consciously. _Note to self, don’t sleep in the cockpit._

Lance looked around, trying to find the source of the alarm, and found that some systems were being displayed on the dashboard.

“Attagirl, Red,” Lance cheered. He had a full system diagnostic pulled up and quickly scrolled through the list.

Navigation was down, weapons were down, engines three and four were down, and a blinking red notification told him the most pressing issue was that he was losing pressure in the cockpit.

Lance fiddled with the readout for a second, managing to get an expanded diagram of Red’s exterior pulled up that revealed there was a hairline fracture in her hull, near the impact site of the druid shot. Lance didn’t have to be a genius to know what that meant. He’d have to exit the ship and patch it up.

Lance peeked down at his bandages and decided they were bloody enough to warrant a redressing. He worked quickly, now on a time limit, and removed the blood-soaked bandages before applying the last of the healing gel. He was out now, but Lance figured he would be back at the Castle Ship soon so it wouldn’t matter.

Meanwhile, he was glad to see that the original application of gel had allowed the cuts to seal up. They were now just an angry red, the flesh looking as if it had barely knitted itself together.

Lance rewrapped his chest and glanced over in disdain at his bloody flight suit and the pile of his blue paladin armor that he would have to dawn again. He gingerly wriggled back into his sticky suit, wrinkling his nose at the feeling. He resolved to fabricate a new suit as soon as he got back, because this one was disgusting.

Lance finished up assembling his full suit, snapping all of his armor components on securely. He found his helmet on the floor of the cockpit where he’d thrown it in his fit of panic and quickly popped it over his head, securing the locks and lowering the visor.

Once he was ready to go, Lance grabbed the repair kit, securing it to his belt, and clipped himself onto the tether at the back of the cargo hold before opening the hatch in Red’s belly.

He immediately floated out into empty space, finally getting a better view of where he was. Honestly, the view from inside of Red’s dim cockpit was a more hopeful sight.

He could still see the faint collection of stars, but they looked extremely far away and clustered in one area. Lance spun around for a bit and found there was nothing but complete blackness in all other directions.

He shuddered, wondering where in space he was. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew most of space was, well, _empty_ , but shouldn’t he still be able to see more than a single cluster of stars? He’d never felt so alone before.

Shaking his head to clear it, he focused on the issue at hand.

Lance hugged Red’s side as he propelled himself to the front of his lion, the exterior diagram he’d transferred to his visor display directing him to the location of the breech in the hull.

As far as Lance was concerned, it was a fairly simple repair job. Especially with the fancy Altean repair stuff that Coran had taught him the basics of. He just had to squeeze some of the bright orange gel out of the tube, spread it over the crack, and allow it to harden, effectively forming a seal (and it said something about Lance’s state of mind that he wasn’t chuckling about that innuendo-packed procedure).

As Lance floated out in the nothingness, impatiently waiting for a green blink in his visor to notify him that the breech was no longer a problem, Lance sensed movement in his peripheral vision.

He whipped around, bayard materializing in his hand as his jetpack worked to restabilize him. His recently healed cuts protested the sudden tenseness of his body, but Lance ignored it all and stared intently into the blackness.

A moment of stillness passed where Lance held his breath and squinted unblinkingly into the inky expanse stretching out before him.

He was startled from his stupor when his display finally blinked green, cursing his paranoia as he exhaled shakily. _I’m in the middle of nowhere, no way there's anything out here._

Just as he started to relax, making his way back around to the hatch under Red, Lance saw it again.

It was a quick flash of purple that immediately had him on guard (honestly, he’d been trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs to immediately prepare for trouble if he caught so much as a glimpse of Galra purple). There was no way to guess at the unidentified thing’s size or location, given that he had nothing to aid his depth perception.

His grip tightened on his bayard as he froze like a deer in the headlights, once again engaging the all consuming black of space in a one-sided staring contest. _Only it might not be as one sided as I thought._

Lance figured he’d have better luck initiating a scan for biorhythms when he got back into Red, considering her scanners were at least online, so he warily continued his retreat, picking up the pace as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Red, we’re _so_ not alone right now,” he mumbled as he made it the rest of the way to the hatch, jabbing the button to close Red’s cargo hold as soon as he entered the threshold.

Lance landed on his feet as soon as the artificial gravity cut in, and it was only then that he realized Red had responded, a deep rumble of unease mixed with impatience and determination.

“Aw girl, glad to see that you’re back with me,” Lance said affectionately, detaching himself from the tether and setting down the repair kit. He slid his helmet off as he made his way back to the cockpit, refreshing Red’s diagnostics.

“Alright, we’ve got everything back but weapons! I love magic! Red, can you initiate a scan for life forms?”

Red chuffed in annoyance (Lance was pretty sure he could detect some fondness in there, too), but the dashboard lit up with a map of… well, there weren’t any planets around, so it was really just a black square with a grid on it.

None of the quadrants were named, which was mildly concerning, considering navigation was supposed to be online. He zoomed the map out until the cluster of stars was visible on the map, revealing that there were a couple of planets in their midst as well, but they also had no labels. It was like he was in uncharted space.

Lance activated the heat signature overlay now that Red had completed a scan and blinked once at the display. There was nothing there, not in the direction he’d spied movement, and Lance really couldn’t start doubting himself now.

He knew he’d seen it, a brief flash of purple, and he knew he’d felt the telltale chill of someone watching him run up his spine. He told Red to repeat the scan one more time, and swallowed around the lump in his throat when the results were the same.

He was a single red dot floating in a sea of solid, cold blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a second chapter less than 24 hours after I published the first one? Could it be that I've already written like four chapters and I'm not sure what the protocol is for publishing them but I don't really care because I'm super excited? (Hint: yes, that is exactly what is happening here.)
> 
> But! Development! I have a better outline figured out now. I'm going to add spicy new tags when I publish new chapters to avoid spoilers, and I also there's a working chapter count now! YAY!
> 
> Do you have a sneaking suspicion that I have no clue how spaceships work? I also have that suspicion! Imagine that. But seriously, I feel like if there was a breach in the hull, Lance would be, like, dead. But it was a realllllly small crack? It's OK, clearly Lance is just super awesome and indestructible :)


	3. 103 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance takes stock of the situation.

Lance spent the rest of his day cycle flitting around his lion, checking various systems as they reset themselves.

He hadn’t eaten anything and he’d been gone for about a day now, so he dug around in the cargo hold until he unearthed the emergency vacuum packed food goo packets and water pouches.

The food goo tasted about as good as it looked, and it looked like the congealed, fuzzy green surface of a stagnant creek.

During his initial tour of the lion interiors, Coran had assured all of the paladins that the food goo was perfectly edible despite having probably been fresh about ten thousand years ago.

“Not only edible, but _very_ nutritious!” Coran had added cheerily, gushing about the ancient Altean provisions to five equally unimpressed paladins. Lance supposed Coran had been right, though. Technically he only needed to eat one packet a day to maintain a healthy diet, but it still left his stomach gurgling for something to actually fill it.

Lance found that he severely regretted not having taken Hunk up on his offer to stock his lion with food of a more… edible variety. Lance had insisted they didn’t have enough ingredients left on the Castle to stockpile extra food in Red, not with Hunk already putting heaps of homemade goodies in Green and Yellow.

After enough prodding from his friend, Lance had agreed to help Hunk go shopping for ingredients at the next swap moon they visited so Lance could have his very own snack supply.

But seeing as they _hadn’t_ yet gotten around to visiting another swap moon, that meant that right now, Lance was stuck trying not to gag on his meal of packaged algae.

“Red, we really need to work on your food formula, girl,” he sighed as he settled back into the pilot’s seat.

Lance scrolled through more system diagnostics, pleased that everything seemed to be in working order at least. Red really hadn’t sustained that much damage besides her severely drained power core that was taking a while to recharge, but maybe that had to do with the weirdass scars covering Lance’s upper body.

Maybe he'd like, absorbed some of that druid blast. _Or not. Seriously. Magic makes no sense._

As Lance forlornly picked at his meal, he made another attempt at contacting Voltron. He had opened private lines with everyone, even Shiro. He had tried to connect with the Castle Ship, obviously. He even used the secure line that was supposed to get him to Keith’s Blade of Marmora com (which Keith had never answered his calls on before this fiasco anyways, so Lance already knew to expect silence). He got nothing but static from any of them.

Lance couldn’t help but wonder if everyone was okay. It wasn’t like he thought his absence would be particularly troublesome to them or anything (he figured as far as missing paladins went, he was the expendable one), but they _did_ need Red around if they wanted to form Voltron. Plus, he had totally bailed mid battle! Lance has been gone for about a day now, so he just hoped that by the time he got back no one was captured or hurt.

Lance was certain the paladins would be fine without him. They’d been fine without Shiro, and they’d been fine without Keith. Besides, he was probably just overreacting. He would stay right here with Red, and sooner or later the Castle Ship would wormhole right up to him and everyone would be worried but then Lance would crack a joke and everything would be back to normal. No problems.

That was what he told himself as the days passed by and there was still no evidence of anyone existing in the entire universe besides Lance and Red.

It took three days of Lance moping around inside of Red, playing the video games Pidge had helped him integrate into the dashboard, napping on that horrible metal platform in the cargo hold, and glancing surreptitiously out the windshield every once in a while ( _because he’d seen something, dammit!_ ) before he accepted that staying put was clearly not the solution to all of his problems.

Lance had just removed his bandages, having deemed his chest and back fully healed, and was yanking his shirt back over his head when Red tried to reach out to him again.

He was getting a jumble of emotions, all flashing through his mind quickly, just like everything Red did. There was a prevailing sense of annoyance, which Lance scoffed at, but underneath that he felt the same unease that Lance had been feeling a lot himself lately, accompanied by a sense of urgency.

From this, Lance concluded that Red agreed with him on the something’s-out-there-playing-peeping-Tom front, and also that something was vaguely wrong. Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he thought maybe Red was saying that there was trouble brewing.

It wasn’t enough for Red to be panicking right now, but whatever it was, she felt the need to warn Lance about it.

“I knew you’d come around, Red! Looking out for old Lancey Lance like that? I really appreciate it,” Lance joked as he stood and stretched.

Red prodded at his mind again, chuffing ( _Definitely amusement! So Red_ did _like him!_ ) as she tried to communicate more clearly. An image flashed in his mind’s eye of… Lance almost dry heaved when he recognized a very clear picture of the food rations materializing in his head.

“ _Not_ cool, Red,” Lance groused as he went begrudgingly back into the cargo hold. He figured Red was right. He didn’t know how long he’d be stuck out here, so it was time for an inventory of all of his supplies.

A couple of hours later, Lance had all of the various packets of goo, water, and random supplies all sorted into piles. Lance had been dictating his counting to Red, and now looked at his final numbers.

“That’s 96 food packets, 100 water packets, 18 medicine packs, a fully stocked repair kit, my normal clothes, a spare helmet, two emergency oxygen canisters, and Keith’s emo sketchbook,” Lance called out into his empty ship.

Lance had been (pleasantly) surprised to find that Keith had forgotten his sketchbook on a shelf in Red. Surprised because a) Lance found it improbable that someone as high strung as Keith would accidentally forget anything of importance and b) because Lance didn’t know Keith did anything besides train, sharpen his knife, and brood.

Yet there it was, a leatherbound journal filled with beautiful pencil sketches of various subjects from planets they’d visited as Voltron.

Lance blushed when he flipped through to a page with a bunch of sketches of him, but couldn’t decide whether or not to feel disappointed when he found that Keith had drawn all of the Castle Ship’s occupants at some point. There was a gorgeous portrait of Allura, some sketches of the mice and Coran, pages brimming with almost photo-like renderings of each of the paladins, even a rough drawing of Kaltenecker.

Keith was _really_ good at art. Lance resolved to bring it up when he got back.

Besides that distraction, Lance hadn’t had much trouble sorting through Red’s cargo hold. There weren’t actually that many things in there to begin with since Lance rarely entered Red to do anything besides fight the good fight, but none of the boxes were labelled and all of their contents were mixed together, as if _someone_ (it was definitely Keith) had rooted through all of the stuff before hastily packing it all away again.

The medicine packs he had found weren’t as effective as the healing gel Lance had used on his chest and back, but they were supposed to help some. Lance would compare the stuff to ointment, so at least if he managed to get himself injured again he wouldn’t have to suffer an infection.

Lance didn’t really know what the heck the oxygen canisters were for. The lion had some weird way of recycling his breath (Pidge had tried to explain it to him before but he had been distracted by Keith and his shirt that was _way_ too tight).

Lance’s suit used the same process to give him breathable air, but since it was so much smaller than Red, it could actually run low on oxygen if he spent too long in space.

Considering his lack of luck trying to get into contact with the team, Lance was starting to suspect he might be stuck out here for a little bit longer than he had been counting on, and if that was the case he didn’t like the looks of the meager pile of supplies he’d just finished sorting.

“Uh, so as long as I don’t drink too much water, I’ve got 96 days.” He desperately hoped he wouldn’t be away from the Castle Ship long enough to run out of his provisions. While starving to death was a scary thought, Lance was more concerned with the whole _floating alone in space for 96 days_ aspect of the situation.

Lance made a beeline back to the cockpit, pulling up the spreadsheet Red had creating and doing a few quick calculations.

“Uh… If we start approaching the star system… and with our low energy levels… hmmm…” Lance trailed off, unhappy with the conclusion he came to. He was short on rations. The journey would be exactly 103 days if he was pushing Red as fast as she could go at her current low power levels.

If Lance was lucky, she would finish charging along the way and he’d cut the trip in half. He was thankful that Red had warned him to get off of his ass when she had.

“Alright, Red. I’m plotting a course for the terrestrial planet on the outer -- Hey! I can name these planets!” Lance was easily distracted from the dire state of affairs when he realized that he could finally fulfill his lifelong dream of going where no man had gone before.

“Let’s call this one… _Bola Misteriosa_ ,” Lance decided with a flourish, giggling to himself at the lame name. It was alright though, because he had a few more planets in the system to come up with better names for.

Red seemed to roll her eyes at him, which only made Lance happier. He was finally bonding with his lion, _and_ he got to name new planets? Score!

“Anyways, looks like we’ll be cutting it a little close, rations wise,” Lance said as he powered up Red’s thrusters for the first time in four days of floating on low power.

“Let’s get going, _chica_. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Lance murmured, collapsing the charts and spreadsheets he’d been working on and staring out of the windshield at the foreign, dark landscape. And in the distance, his destination: a tiny speck that he couldn’t quite make out with his bare eyes. 

Lance was definitely worried about his rations. He figured he could start off with one pack a day, and maybe halve his portions when he got closer to the planet. He was already going to end up being a bit dehydrated by the time he arrived on _Bola,_ so he could only hope the planet would be occupied and friendly.

Even as he relaxed, preparing for more than three month’s worth of boredom ( _Unless the team finds me before then_ , Lance’s brain supplied helpfully), he felt an itch in the forefront of his mind, telling him that something wasn’t quite right.

Lance stared into the vast emptiness of space until he felt dizzy, but as confident as he was that there was something staring right back at him, he found no evidence of it in that unforgiving void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops that spreadsheet is a real thing because I can't keep track of all of the numbers lol
> 
> I'd like to thank Google Translate for making me fluent in Spanish!
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter, but it's also mostly just plot stuff and not a ton of action, so you know how that goes. That being said, the chapter count has been updated if you care about that!


	4. Extraterrestrial Beings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skips and an unexpected visitor.

Coming up on his first month of slow progress towards _Bola Misteriosa_ , Lance couldn’t believe he’d thought those first four days of repairs had been hard. Now, he missed those days when he actually had things to occupy himself with.

As it turned out, Lance was going absolutely stir crazy with no company other than a sentient warship that he was mildly acquainted with.

He had beaten all of _Killbot Phantasm I_ three times over, he’d organized the contents of Red’s cargo hold alphabetically, by size, and by weight. He’d poured over the entirety of Keith’s sketchbook, able to appreciate the smudged pencil strokes and the bittersweet reminder of his friends who were far, far away.

He’d even adopted a workout regimen. By now, Lance had probably done thousands of push-ups and sit-ups based on the amount of times he’d grown so bored that he just exercised until he collapsed from exhaustion.

He’d also been working tirelessly trying to boost his communication signal, hoping to contact _anyone_ at this point. Unfortunately, Red’s power core had stopped recovering at about half way and she didn’t have any extra energy to spare for his efforts. So she wouldn’t be speeding up any time soon, either.

The silence inside of Red had begun to feel suffocating.

Having exhausted all other options, there wasn’t much else to do besides try and hold a conversation with Red that lasted longer than a few sentences on his end. Lance figured now was as good of time as any to try and bond with his lion. After all, he had all of the time in the world (not really; Lance only had 45 food packets left and roughly two and a half more months of travel to look forward to).

So Lance plopped down in the pilot’s seat and braced himself.

“ _Hola,_ Red. How’s tricks?” As he spoke, his voice cracked, rusty from disuse, and _that_ was something that had never happened to Lance before.

A few weeks ago, he’d sung to pass the time, but he quickly ran out of songs he knew the words to. Since then, he’d kind of unconsciously slipped into periods of not uttering a single word that lasted for days at a time. Being the people person that he was, the lack of social interaction had really started to get to Lance.

A powerful rumble answered him, along with an onslaught of abstract emotions that Lance struggled to untangle. The first concrete thing he could latch onto was that Red was still worried about the strange presence they’d glimpsed back on their first day out in what Lance referred to in his head as the infinite abyss.

“I know, I can sense it too, Red. Something’s out there, something fast and cloaked. Do you think it came with us from the battle?”

Lance could feel Red’s literal and metaphorical gears working as she thought about that. She responded with a color: purple. Lance felt his chest tighten at the implication.

“Well, I for one think it’s unproductive to dwell on thoughts of our creepy space stalker that may or may not be Galra," Lance declared. "Got anything else on that big brain of yours?” he added on hopefully, more than willing to talk about about _anything_ else with Red.

There was a moment of silence before Red reached out again, this time projecting the image of a familiar mullet into his brain, catching him off guard.

Lance was further caught off guard by the accompanying emotion that Red’s cockpit vibrated with. Disappointment.

“What, do you wish your old paladin was here to pilot you through this mess? Am I not good enough?”

Lance had thought that he and Red were making progress, and he was honestly kind of offended at this turn of events. He thought that maybe they’d even graduated from functional acquaintances to battle buddies. It reminded him of the rocky cliff he’d clawed his way up to finally be able to call a certain hot-headed half-Galran his friend. Lance had really thought Red was starting to warm up to him.

Lance’s train of thought was interrupted by an annoyed but fond huff from Red, bringing him to the realization that he _may_ have interpreted her slightly wrong. She gave him a clearer picture of Keith, a genuine smile on his face, his violet eyes shining brilliantly, and suddenly Lance understood where that feeling of disappointment from earlier had come from.

“C’mon, Red, he didn’t abandon us! He just had to sort out some family stuff, you know how it is,” Lance tried, unsure why he was attempting to defend Keith from a sentient lion. After all, hadn’t Lance felt that same disappointment following Keith’s sudden departure from Voltron?

Red nudged his mind again, giving him a warm fuzzy feeling along with an image of himself blushing as he looked at Keith’s sketches of him.

Lance flushed in real time at the recent memory, trying to choose between being annoyed or embarrassed at his lion’s attentiveness, before deciding to go with the less hostile emotion since he _was_ trying to bond with Red, after all.

“Look… I guess there’s no point in trying to deny it. Me and Keith… I always thought we had something, you know?” Lance closed his eyes for a brief second, composing himself. “But I guess when he left for the Blade of Marmora, I realized that it must’ve just been me,” Lance trailed off, feeling vulnerable in the benevolent presence of Red.

Red just purred at him, offering him a feeling of _hope_ , which Lance thought was incredibly refreshing.

He used to have Blue to talk to about his Keith troubles, but ever since the lion switch he hadn’t been able to build that kind of relationship with Red. Now, she was broaching the subject all on her own, and basically giving him the lion equivalent of an “it’ll be okay.”

Lance just sat in the pilot’s seat for a moment, observing the cluster of stars that didn’t really look like they were getting any closer, despite the data displayed on the dashboard insisting that they were slowly crawling forward, going as fast as they could with their low core power. Lance thought it was pretty freaky that he himself couldn’t detect any movement and had to put his full trust in the data Red was showing him.

“Thanks, Red. I’m glad that I was wrong about you hating me. I wouldn’t want to be stranded out here with any other lion,” Lance said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence.

Red responded with a pleased hum that made Lance truly grateful for her company and the fact that _yes, we’ve finally bonded!_ He felt a lot better about their current circumstances knowing that he’d finally befriended Red.

***

It was about two weeks later, when Lance was in the process of consuming his forty-seventh food packet (which he’d finally gotten used to eating and decided didn’t taste half bad if he plugged his nose) when Red abruptly roared, a clear warning for Lance who had been sitting in the cargo hold.

He stumbled his way into the cockpit and found the reason for Red’s alarm quite literally staring him in the face.

It was the purple thing that he’d caught glimpses of all of those weeks ago. That he and Red mutually agreed had been tailing them this entire time. Apparently, it had decided to reveal itself.

The problem was that it wasn’t a Galra ship, as Lance had suspected. _It wasn’t even a fucking ship!_ It was a living creature, which made the fact that Red’s scanners couldn’t detect it slightly troublesome.

The purple Lance had seen before turned out to be two bright eyes, staring intently at Lance through Red’s windshield. It almost looked like a dog… _no, definitely a wolf,_ he decided. _A cosmic space wolf._

It looked friendly enough for a canine. Lance didn’t really understand how it was alive just floating in the abyss of space, but it seemed perfectly fine, possibly even excited at the sight of Lance. It was smallish -- Lance would guess that it was just a puppy.

Besides the purple eyes, it had sleek black fur that nearly blended into the black of space. It was no wonder he and Red hadn’t been able to get a clear visual on it. _Still doesn’t explain why it didn’t show up on Red’s heat scans._

As Lance watched, patches of red fur on the wolf’s head, legs, and chest began emitting a soft glow, and then with a _pop_ , the wolf was just _gone,_ leaving behind a quickly dispersing cloud of red sparkles. Lance had been staring at it one second, and the next it was nowhere to be seen.

Lance hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he was releasing it slowly, fogging up the windshield which he’d unconsciously moved toward, thoroughly enraptured by the first living thing he’d seen in so many weeks. Now he absently wondered if it had even been there in the first place.

His heart was just starting to resume a normal rhythm when Red was suddenly projecting another warning into his head, and, _hey, what's that smell?_ , and then a cold, wet nose nuzzled one of the hands that had been hanging limply at Lance’s side, and Lance _shrieked._

Acting on instinct, Lance wheeled around with his bayard already morphing into his blaster, ready to destroy the freaky monster that was definitely trying to molest him, but _holy shit that’s the space wolf it's in my cockpit_ and Lance’s finger was already too tight on the trigger.

Lance tried to redirect his shot, but his reaction was a bit too late. He jerked his arm, and the laser flew wide.

Not wide enough, though, because it still managed to find it’s mark. A soft _thump_ sounded and now Lance was cursing in Spanish, dropping his bayard and running to the wolf puppy. And Red was… _laughing!_ Red was fucking laughing at him!

“ _Hijueputa_ , why did you do that? Red, you have such a bad sense of humor! This is serious! _¡Deja de bonchear, fuácata de mierda!_ ” Lance wasn’t sure if he was yelling at himself or at the wolf or at Red. He was kind of freaking out.

As Lance frantically rushed towards the wolf, it whined low in its throat and bared its teeth from its prone position on the floor of Red’s cockpit, stopping Lance in his tracks.

He took the queue and slowed down, showing his empty hands. When he got close enough to see where his shot had landed, he would’ve laughed along with his lion had the situation not been so dire. _I shot its fucking tail off!_

“Listen, wolf? Dog? Puppy? Let me help you, I’m sorry, _lo siento_.”

For some reason, the wolf relaxed a bit at Lance’s words, and seemingly lowered its head in submission. Lance maneuvered around the small, cowering body, going to the cargo hold to get one of the medicine packets. He hoped they worked on teleporting space wolves too.

When he entered the cockpit again, the wolf tensed up, hackles raised, and Lance felt absolutely terrible. _You float alone through space for a couple of months and then reflexively shoot the friendly space wolf, nice going_ idiota _!_ Lance ignored his stupid, useless thoughts.

“I’m going to help you. I won’t hurt you again, promise. _Mírame,_ ” Lance said in his most soothing voice as the wolf’s ears pressed flat against its head. It was clearly uncomfortable, but once again responded to the Spanish and made brief eye contact with Lance before laying its head back down on its front paws and releasing a whimper.

Lance took that as permission and settled down on the cockpit floor to examine the wolf’s rear. The shot had been clean, at least. What had once been a nice six or seven inch tail (and now Lance regretted teaching Red his dirty sense of humor because she started laughing again) was now a little inch-long nub with smoking red fur. The laser had cauterized the wound immediately, so Lance gently cleaned it off before applying the Altean ointment and wrapping the stub in a bandage.

The wolf had remained calm throughout the procedure. After, Lance poured one of his food packets out for the space wolf into the extra helmet from the cargo hold. He really couldn’t afford to spare the food at this point, but he figured it was the least he could do for the poor thing after shooting his tail off.

The wolf, apparently comfortable now that it was fed and tended to, fell asleep in the cockpit. While it slept, Lance wrinkled his nose and picked up the severed tail from the floor. It had the acrid smell of burnt flesh.

Lance felt like he should’ve said a prayer or something as he ejected the tail into space through Red’s trash chute. Too bad he’d slept through every church service ever since he was four.

As Lance remembered it, the only good thing about Sundays had always been that his whole family gathered together in one place. Luis, Veronica, Marco, Lisa, Rachel, Nadia and Sylvio. Mama. Abuela. Countless cousins and aunts and uncles.

It had been such a long time since he’d last seen his family like that. Lance could barely admit to himself that he was starting to forget their faces, their voices, the feeling of a home bursting with life. Coming home to his siblings bickering and Mama and Abuela bustling around in the kitchen. Laughing with the kids, helping Luis out on the farm, heading into town with Marco to go dancing.

Lance knew that he’d technically given all of that up even before Voltron. He’d known what enrolling in the Garrison would entail, knew that once he left Cuba he wouldn’t have the money to come back home. Lance wondered how his life would’ve turned out if he’d just stayed at home like Mama had wanted.

Only after the tail was disposed of did Lance finally relax again. Since the wolf could apparently survive out in space, he figured when it felt rested enough it would, _well, apparently teleport,_ but yeah. It would leave.

And then Lance would be left alone once again, only now he would have one less food packet. Lance shuffled back into the cargo hold, sitting down heavily on his makeshift bed while Red tried to apologize to him through their bond. Dios, _this is so fucked up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha pranked it wasn't angst. BUT don't worry angst and badassery and violence are all coming up within the next few chapters >:)))
> 
> Thank you for your services, Google Translate. I salute you. **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**
> 
> Also RIP space wolf's tail it was fun while it lasted. I'm excited, though! It's supposed to be like a foil to Kosmo, so when Lance gets back maybe he and Keith can bond over their cosmic companions! I know you know that I know that you know what I'm talking about ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. All Of Our Worries Are Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bonding, an altercation, and an arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! You don't understand! How excited! I am about this chapter I just,,, love plot things!
> 
> And thank you thank you thank you for all of your comments last chapter they were so nice and inspiring? I love you people so much. And I've literally been writing fanfiction for like no time at all lmaoooo.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this 4k monster. Well, as monsters go, it's probably a solid Mike Wazowski, but compared to the stuff I've been publishing it could qualify as maybe a... Charizard? Is it rude to call pokemon (men?) monsters? Good bye please ignore me lol

As it turned out, Lance was entirely wrong about the space wolf.

When Lance woke up again the next day (he’d set an alarm to maintain some semblance of a schedule), he absentmindedly shuffled into the cockpit to check on Red, yesterday’s events having faded into the fog of his morning thoughts.

That was until he tripped over a fuzzy red and black lump on the floor.

Lance yelped from his position sprawled on the cockpit floor and looked up to meet the shiny purple eyes of the wolf pup. It’s hackles were already raised, which was fair. Lance’s eyes darted to the bandage on the wolf’s tail, feeling a pang of guilt again.

“I thought you would leave,” he mumbled in bewilderment. Lance tried to approach the wolf, but she growled and bared her teeth, so Lance decided to give it space for now.

When he was little, back before he’d left Varadero Beach, Veronica used to volunteer at the animal shelter around the corner and come home with depressing stories about abused animals and stuff, begging Mama to let her adopt a new dog every week.

Lance had always wondered why someone would willingly harm an animal. Feeling a new wave of shame as he stared down at the cowering wolf, he decided that he would do everything he could to make things right.

Lance stood up slowly so he didn’t spook the wolf, before giving it a wide berth as he made his way to the front of Red. He pulled up the inventory spreadsheet on the dashboard and began trying to recalculate his rations.

Lance still had 56 days left until he arrived at _Bola Misteriosa,_ and he only had 48 food packs and 50 water packs left. Lance frowned. He’d have to halve his daily meals to share with the wolf, _plus_ he had to calculate for the days that he didn’t even have food packs for.

“That means that starting right now, you and me are gonna be having a daily feast of about two fifths of a food packet every day!” Lance said, turning to the wolf with false cheer.

The wolf just stared back at him owlishly, and _wow, those eyes were gorgeous_ , like magenta nebulae. Lance thought they would’ve looked better reflecting the stars that used to fill the impenetrable abyss he was now floating through. Maybe, if the wolf let him, Lance would take it back to the Castle Ship. He was certain the wolf would get along famously with Kaltenecker.

Lance grabbed a food packet, carefully separating out the wolf’s portion by pouring it into the spare helmet like he had last night. He slid it over to the wolf, who looked at it skeptically before looking back up at him.

“ _Bon appetit,_ ” Lance said as he plugged his nose and swallowed down his meal.

***

It took another month of flying before Lance realized that the wolf wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon.

For her part, the wolf had taken up residence in the cockpit (sprawling out like she owned the place, which is coincidentally how Lance figured out it was a _she_ ), occasionally following Lance back to the cargo hold or teleporting outside of the ship to peer at Lance through the windshield. But she always came back, which Lance found he was grateful for.

Through experimentation, he learned that the wolf didn’t like it when Lance tried to approach her, but if Lance was sitting still enough, the wolf would come up, either gently nuzzling Lance’s side or resting her head in his lap.

The wolf was initially quick to spook, but Lance’s Spanish seemed to sooth it. In the month that it spent with Lance, it grew really fast, just like an Earth dog.

Lance felt bad that he couldn’t spare more food for the growing animal. By now, the both of them were somewhat worse for wear in the body mass department.

Luckily, while Lance had been fiddling around with the communications system again, Red had helpfully told him that if he cut off some unnecessary systems and diverted more power to the engines (because Red’s power core was still only half replenished after all this time, and Lance wondered what that meant), he might be able to speed them up some.

Now, Lance had transferred all of his supplies to the cockpit and set up a makeshift nest using the thin blanket he’d been sleeping with in the cargo hold (which was luckily pretty large since it was meant to accommodate a generic alien body). He cut off thermal regulation and artificial gravity in the cargo bay, just leaving the systems running in the cockpit where he and the wolf were now permanently confined. Lance managed to shave four days off of the journey, which he was extremely grateful for.

Meanwhile, after dancing around each other for several weeks, Lance had finally been able to pet the wolf. Initially, they slept on opposite sides of the cockpit, the wolf keeping a wary eye on Lance until one of them conked out, but Lance wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And now, thanks to his diligent patience, they’d worked up to belly rubs. _Take that, Veronica. Who’s the dog whisperer now?_

Lance figured at this point it really needed a name. He’d been calling it “Cosmic Space Wolf” for over a month now.

“Alright, _señorita_. What should we call you?” The wolf peered at him curiously, having rolled onto its back for belly rubs.

“Are you a _Loba_?” Lance questioned. The wolf didn’t respond, and Lance figured it was probably too on the nose. He tried a few more names.

“Ninja? Hermione? Tierra? Sparky? Uhhh…” Lance was already running out of steam. There was a reason Veronica had never let him name any of the stray dogs at the shelter.

Red broke through his thoughts, purring at him and giving him an image of… _oh, that’s just low!_

“Red!” Lance fumed, because Red had just reminded him of the very unfortunate month-old incident wherein he shot the wolf’s tail off. _And she_ still _thought it was funny!_

Lance looked down at the smooth nub on the wolf’s rear which was now fully healed. He could kind of tell where Red was going with this.

“Um.... S-sin? Rabo? Sin Rabo?” Lance said haltingly as he stroked the wolf’s soft belly fur. At the phrase, the wolf’s ears twitched, as if in interest, and Lance sighed in defeat.

“Sin Rabo it is, then,” Lance said with a fond huff, even as he glared at the dashboard, hoping Red could feel his annoyance. “That’s not even a real name, Red! Is it, like, hyphenated?”

Red just laughed at him some more.

Lance turned to the newly named crimson and black space wolf that was still flopped haphazardly on its back, looking at Lance impatiently because he’d briefly paused with his belly rubs.

“Maybe we can shorten it. Sin? Oh, you know what would be cool?”

The wolf looked up, and Lance felt like he was drowning in purple, but for once it was a pleasant sensation. Upon closer inspection, Lance had found that the purple of the wolf’s eyes was several shades pinker than Galra purple. It was closer to… maybe what Allura’s armor looked like in low lighting, like when Lance’s eyes were cloudy when he was resurrected at the Omega Shield station. _Nope, nope, nope, time for some new thoughts!_

Almost as if she had sensed his unease, the wolf nuzzled his hand, and Lance came back to himself. _God,_ is it possible to love anything as much as Lance had grown to love this random space wolf? He didn't think so.

“How about I call you Bo for short?”

The wolf positively preened, a dollop of drool dribbling gracefully down her smiling jowls.

***

As it turned out, Sin Rabo was a pretty clever wolf. Now that they’d spent so much more time together, Bo had seemingly forgiven Lance entirely. Lance felt like he’d managed to develop that coveted man’s-best-friend bond with her, despite his earlier… miscalculation.

It was slow progress, but after breaking through that initial contact barrier with the belly rubs, it was as if he had never shot her tail off in the first place. Any time when Lance wasn’t moving around in the cramped cockpit, the wolf was pawing at his arms or sloppily licking his face and just generally being a nuisance (in an obviously endearing way -- Lance absolutely adored her company).

When Lance worked out, she sat right in front of him, maintaining eye contact throughout his set of 100 push-ups. When Lance sat at the dashboard, she used to clamber into his lap, but after she grew too big she started teleporting to float over Red’s snout and stay in Lance's field of vision, much to his lion’s amusement.

Anyways, Sin Rabo now slept right next to Lance (who was he kidding, the wolf practically slept _on top_ of him), pressing up against him to conserve body heat. She was a great cuddler.

One day, Lance got the bright idea to mess around with Bo’s teleporting, so he dawned his paladin armor (the blood from all those months ago was still crusted over some of the white plates, making it look like someone had committed a murder, but Lance didn’t have any water to spare to clean it up).

All suited up, Lance fisted Bo’s magnificent red mane ( _holy shit did this wolf have a glow up_ \-- her head now reached Lance’s belly button when they stood side by side) and as if Bo was reading his mind, she teleported them out into space.

It was so nice to finally be out of the confines of Red’s cockpit, so Lance didn’t try to hold back his breathless cheer as he and the wolf floated alongside Red. They stayed out there for hours, Sin playfully teleporting them all around Red, and for a while Lance forgot that he had been stranded in a pit of blackness for months and that his friends were probably in danger.

He felt alive again, and he hadn’t realized how much of a toll being alone in the outer reaches of the universe had taken on his mental health.

After that first trip outside, Lance started training Bo to respond to commands. They worked surprisingly well together, considering the fact that Bo was a literal wild animal. Lance decided to train her in Spanish, since the wolf seemed to prefer Lance’s mother tongue.

In fact, Lance had recently been spending more time talking out loud again, clearing the dust out of his unused voice box. He would speak in Spanish with Sin for hours, and Red would occasionally contribute to the one-sided conversation. Lance talked about anything and everything during those long, peaceful moments. His friends. His home. He even made up some crazy origin stories for Bo, who had literally been floating through outer space on her own before she joined Lance.

“ _¡Apuesto a que eras una pirata! Una pirata espacial._ Can’t you picture it, Red? The eye-patch?”

With only a week left of travel, Lance had managed to get Sin to teleport him in certain directions and on command. Lance couldn’t wait for everyone to see the space wolf. He knew they would all love her, even Keith.

Lance was fast asleep, arms wrapped around Sin Rabo as had become their nightly sleeping position, when Red urgently prodded at his mind, interrupting his dreamless sleep.

Lance sat up, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes, and then suddenly he was wide awake, body rigid, and a surprised wolf was scrambling into his lap.

“Oh shit.”

There was a large ship floating outside of his window, and it was alarmingly Galra purple. It was clearly made out of scrapped parts, largely from Galra crafts and a few parts that looked kind of similar to the old cargo ships Lance would’ve had to pilot if he’d stayed at the Galaxy Garrison. Maybe Bo hadn’t been the thing he saw out there after all.

In fact, Red hadn’t been able to sense the ship’s approach, which would account for Bo never showing up on Lance’s thermal scans. This ship was cloaked. It had been following Lance for _way_ too long for him to feel particularly comfortable.

The wolf in question whimpered from Lance’s lap. He spared a glance down and saw that if she had a tail to tuck, that’s what she would be doing. She recognized the ship.

“You escaped, didn’t you?” Lance breathed out in awe. He’d encountered his fair share of space smugglers, but it was more rare to see someone peddling living animals. Red’s hull lit up suddenly, causing Bo to flinch. The dashboard showed that the ship was trying to hail them. Lance ignored the call.

“ _No te preocupes,_ Bo, I’m not letting these bozos get you back,” Lance said decisively, already wriggling into his flight suit and armor. He had to do _something_ about the ship. He had a feeling that whoever was on board wouldn't kindly leave them alone if Lance asked nicely.

“No, Red, you can't just blast the ship. There might be more animals in there. And you're too low power, anyways," Lance responded to Red's question, and she seemed dissappointed by his answer. Lance chuckled at his fiery feline friend. He turned to his other companion.

"You’ll have to be brave for me, Bo. _¿Puedes llevarnos a esa nave espacial?”_

Bo squared her shoulders, as if mentally preparing herself to reboard a ship that she had run away from (Lance had long-since stopped being surprised by the animal’s intelligence and her borderline human displays of emotion, but he was still always impressed by them). Lance touched her back, offering his support even as he inhaled and smelled freon, the scent that usually accompanied a jump.

In a blink, Lance was standing inside of the pirate ship. It was cramped on the inside, and the sound of hydraulics and gas bursting from pipes created a stuffy atmosphere. Bo seemed to know where she was going, so Lance followed her lead.

They turned a corner and ran straight into two large red aliens with scary fangs. They didn’t wait for the half-assed introduction Lance was about to stumble through, electing instead to immediately open fire with some very outdated Galra hand blasters. Lance shoved Bo behind him before summoning his bayard.

He feinted left, both of the guards predictably angling their bodies towards the direction they expected Lance to come from, but then he was quickly redistributing his weight and taking advantage of the exposed side of the first guard.

He fell to the floor with a _thump,_ and that left one guard. The red alien fired with precision, but lacked accuracy as his hand wrapped around the gun shakily. Unfortunately, he had learned from his comrade’s mistake and wasn’t leaving any part of his body open for a clean shot from Lance's blaster.

Lance side stepped another cluster of laser blasts, summoning a broadsword and charging. The red alien quickly dropped the gun, reaching into their boot and yanking out a dagger. Lance dodged the first thrust, blocked two more, then spun out of a blade lock and bashed the other’s knife out of their hand. He knocked the disarmed guard out with his sword hilt.

For months of no combat practice, Lance felt pretty good about that performance. Or maybe those guards were just particularly incompetent.

Bo quickly took point again, leading Lance through several cramped hallways. They arrived at the cargo hold of the ship right as the alarm system started going off.

Lance was not prepared for what he saw when the door slid open. The space pirates hadn’t been trafficking living animals as he’d suspected. They’d been trafficking organs. Clear tubes filled with yellow liquid and the limp bodies of several outlandish looking animals lined the walls. Lance didn't see any space wolves in those. He turned back to the aliens in front of him. He’d just walked into their makeshift operation room.

Lance looked away from the dead animal on the table closest to him (it was something furry, but Lance couldn’t tell exactly what it was because there was so much _blood_ ), swallowing back the bile that was burning his throat. Now that he was paying attention, he saw that there were several scalpel-wielding red aliens gaping at him in surprise.

“Voltron?”

The question, coming from an alien in a blood-splattered lab coat, didn’t sound particularly fearful. If anything, Lance would say it sounded kind of confused. He would take what he could get.

“That’s right! And as a representative of the Voltron Coalition, I am here to inform you that your current activities are, like, super not up to space law codes and, uh…” Lance hadn’t ever really been in this situation before. “Surrender!” _Yeah, that’ll show them._

It did not show them. They actually still looked really confused.

“But the Black P--”

The scientist closest to Lance was interrupted mid sentence when Bo was suddenly on his head, ripping into him with those sharp claws that Lance always tried to steer clear of. The scientist yelled, and then the cargo hold erupted in chaos.

There were four other scientists in the room, and though clearly not as proficient at fighting as the guards Lance had taken out in the hallway, they _were_ armed with creepy dissection instruments.

Lance dodged a flying syringe while charging at the two nearest not-currently-being-mauled doctors. He took out one of the smugglers with a clean head-shot. The other one flung several more sharp (and clearly not sterilized, _yuck_ ) tools at Lance’s head.

While he was dodging medical equipment, Bo was easily holding her own, having taken out one doctor and cornered the final two with a menacing growl. _Sheesh,_ Lance wasn’t pulling his weight in this fight.

Lance batted away a flying bone saw with his blaster before putting his bayard back in his storage bars. He was too close now for it to be of any use. Lance chose instead to slug the alien in the gut, and when it doubled over he rammed his armored knee into their face. They groaned and sunk to the floor. Lance smirked triumphantly, turning to knock out the two cowering aliens in the corner.

Both he and Bo had survived the battle completely unscathed. _A decisive victory._ Man, they made a good team, almost as good as him and Mullet-brain.

Lance was trying to decide what to do next, since he hadn’t really been planning on busting an organ harvesting operation today, but his scheming was interrupted by a robotic female voice.

“Self destruct sequence initiated. 30. 29. 28.”

_Straight to blowing the ship up? They're not even going to send reinforcements?_

“Looks like that’s are queue, _hermanita!_ ” Lance yelled over the automated countdown. He was about to tell Bo to take them back to Red, but then he had a better idea.

“Bo, _dónde está la cabina de piloto aquí?_ ”

A flash of red, and then Lance was practically sitting in the pilot’s seat, the cockpit having already been abandoned by whoever initiated the self destruct sequence. The screens were flashing with red warnings, which Lance ignored.

“20. 19. 18.”

He frantically began typing in a simple override code Pidge had taught him to get control of the main engines before proceeding to maneuver the clunky hunk of space junk around his lion. He could feel Red’s worry and sent her a reassurance. He almost had the ship where he wanted it.

“7. 6. 5.”

A few more seconds… and…

“Bo, get us out of here!” he hollered over the artificial female voice, and suddenly he and Bo were safe in Red’s cockpit once again. She greeted them with a purr, and before Lance could apologize for what was about to happen, the smuggling ship which Lance had positioned _right behind them_ detonated.

The entire warship shuddered, Bo scrambled into Lance’s lap even though she was _way_ too big for that now, and Red herself sent several emotions through their bond, mostly annoyance and offense because she’d figured out Lance’s plan.

As soon as Lance’s ears stopped ringing, he started with the apologies which he knew were in order.

“Red, _lo siento!_ You know me and Bo are running out of food! I had an opportunity and I took it. I’m sorry if your butt got toasted in the process,” he added. The teasing didn’t seem to be appreciated by the grumbling lion, so he backtracked. “I promise I’ll shine and wax you when we get back to the Castle Ship!”

She huffed. _Warmer._

“And I’ll give you a fresh coat of paint?”

A pleased hum. Lance rolled his eyes, shoving Bo, who didn’t seem to understand that her 100 pounds of fur were definitely not lap dog material, off of him. She settled down at Lance’s feet, curling around his ankles.

Lance looked out of the dashboard for a moment, noting their newfound proximity to the star cluster. His gambit to get an extra boost of speed had worked out after all.

***

Not even a full week later, Red was nudging him awake in the middle of the night-cycle again, and Lance sat up from his blanket nest on the cockpit floor to be met with the most beautiful sight he’d seen in three months.

Right there, taking up the entire view from Red’s windshield, was _Bola Misteriosa,_ a gorgeous silver orb.

“We made it! Bo, we’re here! _Despiertate,_ Sin Rabo, look!”

Lance was so excited his voice had gone up three octaves in pitch. Bo sat up next to him, little tail nub waggling as Lance plopped himself down in the pilot’s chair, inputting some commands.

He initiated scans for lifeforms and water sources, and was pleased to find both. (Except for the fact that occupants meant the planet probably already had a name. So much for _Bola Misteriosa._ )

Whatever aliens were on this planet appeared to be largely clustered around several spots on the planet’s shiny grey surface, with a few smaller groups located within a couple of miles of the main concentration.

As for water, the rocky planet had several canyons scattered across its surface. Lance wasn’t surprised to see that all of the alien settlements were located near water. The largest town that Lance could see from his orbit was right at the mouth of one of the biggest rivers that had carved out a large canyon. The planet’s population had clearly gravitated towards the water sources.

Lance didn’t try to mask his eagerness (Red was humming with excitement, too) while he started guiding the lion down. As they descended into the planet’s atmosphere, Lance decided to play it safe and land near a canyon that was a good couple of miles away from the main town. He could follow the water back to get there, and besides, he didn’t want to intimidate the locals with his giant feline warship or anything.

When Red touched down on solid ground, Lance could have cried with relief. By his side, Sin was practically vibrating with anticipation, and Lance rubbed her head affectionately. Red informed him that the water was potable and the atmosphere of the planet was perfectly breathable.

Lance figured the planet must be hotter than Earth considering the landscape and the fact that he could see three stars shining bright overhead, but he didn’t mind as he pulled on his jeans and shirt. He shoved his bayard in his pocket (Rachel had always complained that he got _real_ pockets while her jeans always came with shallow pockets on the front and fake pockets in the back), then grabbed the scruff of Bo’s neck.

This time, he didn’t even need to say anything.

In the blink of an eye, he was standing on hard, rocky ground. It was a silvery desert, and Lance spun around slowly, taking in the horizon and the barren landscape. Never had he been so pleased to be in the middle of the desert, even back at the Garrison when he and Hunk snuck out every once in a while. The adrenaline of those nightly excursions hardly compared to _this._

Bo danced in happy circles around Lance’s legs, and Lance felt his cheeks splitting with the wide grin that had spread across his face, one that hadn’t graced his features in much too long.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of fresh air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! The space road trip montage is over! From now on the chapters are fixing to be pretty thick if you're catching the cactus I'm throwing ;)
> 
> So, Bo is a good girl and I love her! Here are a few translations of things that may have been important:  
>  **Bola Misteriosa** \- mystery ball  
>  **Sin Rabo** \- lacking a tail  
> (Peep Google Translate giving me that fat assist 😌)
> 
> Uhhh, Lance,,, what could those mysterious space smugglers have been trying to say before Bo interrupted them? It seemed like it might've been important? Maybe???
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to WordThief!**


	6. Bola Misteriosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New places, new people, and a dubiously lawful apprehension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok people, I have an important message for the Bo fan club: she’s about to go bye bye for like the next two chapters but I promise she’s not dead and she’ll be back before you know it! I will miss her too :(

Lance didn’t understand why he was hesitating, but he had a niggling feeling in his gut telling him not to go into the large alien town just yet.

He would’ve imagined that after three months of travelling with virtually no social interaction ( _no offense, Red_ ), he would immediately jump at the opportunity to surround himself with living people.

Apparently, that was not the case. Lance spent as long as he could delaying the inevitable trek he would have to make down the river, and instead spent time cleaning his clothes, armor, and body in the river while gulping down greedy mouthfuls of fresh water.

His first bath in months was unequivocally _heavenly,_ and it was made even better when Bo teleported into the air, cannonballing into the river next to Lance and initiating a very passionate water fight.

After a couple of hours lounging around on a metallic rock under the three blazing stars in the sky waiting for his clothes to dry, Lance couldn’t ignore his grumbling stomach. He glanced down and couldn’t help the resentment he felt for his own body.

While he had gained a lot of muscle mass from constant workouts, the lack of proper nutrients had taken its toll on his body. He could see his ribs peeking out of his stomach prominently and feel the vertebrae of his spine poking out of his skin.

Not to mention his ruined chest, a mess of scars that made him look like he had been the star of some B-list horror movie.

Technically, his back had already been scarred, the star-shaped patch of mottled skin a constant reminder of his brush with death back on Arus, almost two years ago now. The new lines of off-colored skin were just even more evidence of his incompetence in battle.

Sin Rabo started getting restless, in all likelihood motivated by the same hunger that Lance had been trying his best to ignore for the past couple of hours, but eventually Lance got up from his spot on the rock, despondently pulling his pants and shirt back on. They needed to get into town and get some food in their systems while they still had the light.

Lance dumped his armor in Red, sending her a quick reassurance and telling her to stay put. Her particle barrier materialized as soon as he stepped back out, and she sent him a signal that seemed kind of like she was telling him to come back soon. _Don’t keep me waiting._

“Alrighty Red, don’t get your panties in a twist! We’re just going to investigate, right, Bo?”

The wolf in question simply cocked her head impatiently, and Lance sighed. Both of his travelling companions were useless.

“We better get moving. Looks like we only need to walk about ten miles down river,” Lance said conversationally as he and Bo started towards the hopefully friendly alien town. While Lance could’ve asked Sin to teleport them into the city (it would probably take around five jumps), the wolf seemed perfectly content to walk the distance, and Lance didn’t mind taking some time to think about his plan.

He had no idea where he was or who he was about to meet. Best case scenario, the aliens knew Voltron and sympathized with his cause, and he would be able to get in touch with his team or at least find out the name of the star system he was in.

Lance wouldn’t even have minded if the aliens had never heard of Voltron, as long as they were friendly. Maybe it would be like that time with the mermaids, though Lance _really_ hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with another mind-swishing nightmare snake.

Worst case scenario, the aliens weren’t all about Voltron or had allied themselves with the Galra. In that event Lance would have to cut his brief reprieve from floating endlessly through space short and get the hell out of dodge.

With that possibility in mind, Lance took a purposefully deep breath of fresh, hot air. The three stars were beating down on him with the intensity of three suns ( _imagine that,_ Lance thought dryly), two behind him and one to his left. Sweat trickled down his back, but the sensation was a welcome one compared to stale air and numbing cold he had grown accustomed to.

After a few hours of leisurely walking, the city became visible on the horizon, looking kind of like a town straight out of that cowboy movie Marco had insisted on seeing in the theater. Lance thought it might have been _Rambo 5: The Remake_ or something like that, but he honestly couldn’t remember.

Even still, Lance couldn’t make out much because he was so far away. A sudden gust of wind carried the smell of home cooked food down the river, hitting Lance with such force that he was practically salivating.

He’d never tell Hunk, but the scent definitely rivaled even that of his meticulously crafted hors d'oeuvres. But maybe that was just the three months of nothing but ten-thousand-year-old food goo talking.

Lance shared a look with Bo, who really _was_ drooling, before grabbing onto his wolf’s mane and whispering in rushed Spanish, a command for Sin to teleport them the final stretch to their destination.

There was a _poof_ and then Lance was standing right at the outskirts of what looked to be a literal wild west town.

Most of the buildings were pretty low to the ground, constructed of some type of burnt orange wood, which was impressive in and of itself because Lance hadn’t seen real wood on Earth except for in museums. And Keith’s desert shack. This was a cluster of Keith-shacks, then.

There were several different alien species milling about, which meant whatever planet he was on, it wasn’t home to a single alien civilization like Arus or Olkarion. _Maybe it was some kind of experimental colony?_

As he and Bo made their way further into town, Lance felt every single pair (and a couple of trios) of eyes on him, almost every alien tracking his movement as he tried to make his way towards the source of the mouth-watering smell. Lance rubbed his neck self-consciously, not liking all of the attention he was getting.

A pair of bulky green aliens with horns scowled at him as they passed, while another small alien with translucent skin and wings cowered away from his shadow. These people seemed to know who he was, so he didn’t understand why they were _afraid_ of him.

Lance stopped a vaguely bird-like alien with pink feathers who at the very least hadn’t been glaring at him. Before Lance even opened his mouth to ask a question, the alien spoke.

“You want to know where you are,” the bird-ish alien said in a melodic voice that Lance found strangely soothing. “You are very far from home.”

Lance didn’t answer for a moment, almost hypnotized by that sweet voice, but then he shook his head to try and dislodge his thoughts.

“Um, yeah, I… Where am I?” Lance finally decided on, voice coming out high-pitched and unsure.

The pink alien looked him over, maintaining severe eye contact with him that made Lance feel like he was being dissected in the lab he and Bo had just crashed.

“This is _Carmen IV,_ a terraformed planet that was abandoned by its creators. Now, it is a haven to the slaves that were left behind and outlaws from throughout the star system.”

The bird-ish alien bent over to pet Sin Rabo, but she bared her teeth and the alien backed off. It was interesting seeing the wolf interact with other people besides himself. Lance wasn’t too surprised by the defensiveness, though. They’d been through a lot. 

“Right…” Lance said as he remembered the only terraformed planet he’d ever visited before had turned out to be a giant bomb. “There wouldn’t happen to be any Galra activity in this sector, would there?”

The alien stared at him for a long time, still seeming to be peering at his soul through his eye sockets. Eventually, he clicked his beak before giving an answer.

“The entire species was annihilated long ago. There have been no Galra for many deca-phoebs. You must be further from home than I thought.”

 _Whaaaat?_ Sure, the weird ship he’d encountered a few days ago was full of outdated tech and manned by a species that was definitely _not_ Galra, but he had literally been kicking Galra ass just three months ago!

Lance stared at the alien like it had grown a second head (and Lance had had the poor fortune to witness an alien actually _do_ that, so he knew what he was talking about), but before he could tell the pink alien that they were crazy, his stomach let loose an embarrassingly loud gurgling noise.

So he made the executive decision that this weird pink alien’s story (which could’ve been entirely made up because for all he knew, that alien was a _criminal_ ) would be a mystery for well-fed Lance to solve.

He asked the politely amused alien where he could get some food, and after receiving directions led Bo down the street towards a saloon-looking building with a bunch of crates in the front that was one-hundred percent the source of that wonderful smell he had caught wafting down the river.

Stomach continuing to gurgle audibly, Lance told Sin Rabo to stay outside before hastily pushing his way through the swinging doors.

Inside, the smell of cooked food was ten times stronger, and Lance’s feet dragged him towards the bar near the back of the room of their own accord. Aliens warily stepped out of his way, most of them giving him dirty looks.

He accidentally bumped into one older looking alien, another of the species with green skin and horns, and as Lance opened his mouth to apologize, the guy stood up, pushing his ratty trench coat with a weirdass metal badge attached to the lapel aside to reveal _an actual revolver._

“Ya’ll little bitches might be too pussy to deal with ‘im, but I won’t sit here while a _fucking_ human barges into my building. I _know_ I ain’t the only one been fucked over by them dirty no-good apes,” the alien snarled as he drew the gun and cocked it, aiming right between Lance’s saucer-sized eyes.

_Holy shit holy shit holy sh--_

Lance had unconsciously taken a few steps back, quest for food momentarily forgotten, but his retreat was interrupted when he bumped into something solid.

He slowly turned around to find himself face-to-chest with a giant red alien who was built like a fucking _boulder._ It was the same species that had been on the ship Lance had destroyed. In hindsight, maybe this alien had even been one of the crew members that escaped. Lance swallowed around the new lump growing in his throat as many of the aliens that had been glaring at him stood from where they’d been seated, surrounding him.

“Listen, man, I think you’re a little confused! I’m a paladin of Voltron, I help people,” Lance started, trying to sweet-talk his way out of the situation, but apparently he’d said something wrong because the entire bar (which was even fuller than it had been a moment ago, more and more aliens streaming in from the street) broke out in frenzied conversations, yelling, and accusatory fingers jabbing at Lance.

“Uh… I was joking! I mean, c’mon, what’s a Voltron? Beats me!”

Lance gave the green alien, who was still sticking a _loaded fucking gun_ in his face, his most winning smile. The alien’s face had grown dark, his wrinkly green features twisting into a very unpleasant expression, in Lance’s opinion.

“You’ve got some nerve coming into _my_ town and _admittin’_ to being the one that done bombed it to hell last phoeb! What are we thinkin’, lads? Seems like an ideal candidate for the Ring t’ me!”

Following this proclamation, the crowd of aliens erupted into raucous cheering, and Lance thought he would suffocate, his senses being overloaded with the excessive heat from the mass of bodies and smothering noise.

Plus, his mind was still reeling because _holy fuck there are humans here but also they’re evil? Or maybe these people are evil and that’s why they got bombed? Did they really get bombed? Everything looks fine to me! What the actual fuck is happening?_

Lance was already reworking his old theory about wormholes. That pink alien had said the Galra were extinct, and now these aliens were talking about humans and Voltron as if they were evil. Either this planet was full of misinformed whack jobs, or maybe the druids had managed to blast him into a new _reality._

It would explain a lot of things, like Red’s missing labels for this star system, Lance being unable to contact anyone, the complete lack of stars out in space except for this one cluster. He could practically hear Slav’s voice in his head talking about all of the percentages and possibilities.

While the idea made perfect sense in theory, it was also the scariest thing Lance had ever thought because _how the fuck was he supposed to get back to his reality?_

The alien ringleader put the safety back on his gun, twirling it around his pointer finger before neatly placing it back in its holster, much to Lance’s relief.

Unfortunately, a pair of handcuffs quickly replaced the gun, and now the meaning of the weird metal badge on this particular alien’s coat was clear to Lance. The way he was commanding the bar full of aliens suggested he was some sort of authority figure, maybe even a law enforcer. Like an alien sheriff.

Lance drew his bayard from his pocket, and it quickly morphed into his standard blaster.

“Stop! I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to put the guns and the handcuffs or whatever else away. Why don’t we talk about this like civilized--” Lance snapped his mouth shut as the large red alien behind him grabbed his wrists in a vice-like grip, causing the bayard to fall from his hand and turn back into its dormant form. “Listen to me! I’m not your enemy! Let me go!”

His struggling was in vain. Even with one victorious battle under his belt, he had to admit that his combat skills and his reflexes were a little bit rusty, which in this particular instance was extremely ill-fated. Plus, he was severely out-manned, and dare he say it, out-gunned.

Soon enough, his arms had been wrenched painfully behind his back and he was being marched through the mob of aliens, all of whom looked bloodthirsty and distinctly unfriendly. He wouldn’t find any sympathy from them. The sheriff guy was leading the pack, holding Lance’s bayard and turning it over in his hands thoughtfully.

As they made it to the entrance of the establishment, Sin Rabo’s head perked up above the crate she had settled behind, looking alarmed at the sight of Lance being restrained by hostile aliens. Just as Lance was thinking that they might have had a chance to escape, a gelatinous yellow alien caught sight of the wolf, and then he just _opened fire._

“I saw ‘er, it came here wif that human sumbitch!”

Several aliens were quick to follow the slug-like alien’s lead, drawing all kinds of weapons ranging from serrated knives to tomahawks.

“What the _fuck?_ ” Lance screamed as he yanked at his restraints, but the red alien holding him by the wrists didn’t give him any slack. Sin had ducked back down behind the crates, out of sight. Meanwhile, aliens were practically tripping over themselves trying to get to her.

“Bo, you’ve gotta leave! Go back to Red! _¡Vuelve a Red!_ ” Lance called out frantically. At least Lance had managed to train Bo well. She was more loyal than any dog Lance had ever encountered on Earth.

Just as Lance saw a flash of red and heard the telltale _poof,_ a bony alien elbow connected with his still very-empty stomach, and Lance would’ve doubled over if the red alien weren’t holding him so tightly.

“Get this smart ass to the cubicles. I want ‘im ready for the next season. A paladin of Voltron ought to draw in the big crowds,” the green alien with the badge crowed, looking all too pleased with himself.

“You got it, Krieg,” the alien holding Lance responded, before starting to drag Lance away from the mass of screeching aliens.

Lance hoped desperately that Bo had made it back to Red okay. On the other hand, the wolf was liable to starve to death at this point. Lance needed to escape from these people, and fast.

If he was really somehow in an alternate reality, then he couldn’t count on help from any allies. Lance almost missed those months of floating silently through space with a robot and a wolf as his only companions.

As Lance was dragged through the dusty streets of the largest settlement on _Carmen IV,_ a jeering mob of aliens trailing behind him, he laughed bitterly, if not a bit deliriously.

_Out of the frying pan and into the fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t tell me they wouldn’t do a reboot of every single _Rambo_ film in the future. Capitalism will always prevail!
> 
> Also bonus points if you noticed me sneakily giving the alien a German name because it sounds cool thanks for coming to my TED Talk ;)
> 
> Some of the people Lance randomly talks to will show up again down the line so y'know... keep that in mind I guess.
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**


	7. The Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections and pit fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my trashy fight scenes nerds.
> 
> BTW fuck canon, Lance definitely used his broadsword enough to be an absolute _beast,_ BET.

Lance had passed out from hunger long before he ever arrived at the cubicles or whatever Krieg had called the place he was getting taken to.

The large red alien, who he’d learned was named Soldat (because a lot of the drunk aliens from the bar were yelling at him to scalp Lance -- apparently that was a thing he normally did), had dragged him by the cuffs to a vehicle parked behind the bar.

The truck thing was actually pretty cool. Lance had a feeling that Hunk would’ve had a field day with it considering the fact that it appeared to be largely composed of scraps from various other modes of transportation. It looked kind of like an Earth pick-up truck, except it had no wheels and lots of exposed machinery where a protective covering probably should’ve been.

Soldat had attached Lance’s handcuffed wrists to a weird locking mechanism in the bed of the truck before he kicked the truck into gear. It began hovering in the air with a jolt ( _A hover-truck!_ ), stirring up dust in a plume around them before Soldat took off, presumably heading towards the cubicles.

The roar of the taunting alien crowd was drowned out by the loud sound of the engine stuttering, and Lance watched as the sparkling grey sand and wooden building exteriors all blurred together in his vision before he succumbed to exhaustion and his eyes slid shut.

***

Lance was woken up by the feeling of a bucket of ice cold water being dumped over his slouched form. He sputtered and shivered, trying to recall where he was and what had happened even as he experimentally tugged on the restraints that were limiting his movement. Metal cuffs and chains. _Again with the cliches._

Lance looked up to find another green alien with horns (Lance assumed they were the dominant species on the planet, considering how many he had seen) holding a tray of food that immediately had Lance’s stomach growling.

Wherever that big red alien… Soldat, had taken him on his hover-truck ( _ah yes, it’s all coming back now_ ), Lance still hadn’t eaten anything since he consumed his last two fifths portion of food goo on Red, however long ago that was.

So it took a lot of willpower for Lance to ignore the tray of soup that appeared to be carbonated, weird mint colored alien bread, and a glass of cold water the alien proffered him as he examined his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in his jeans and baseball tee. He seemed to be in some weird nylon body suit. It was silver, possibly dyed using the very dirt that coated the surface of _Carmen IV,_ and covered his entire body, including his feet, cutting off high on his neck. It was already dry despite having just had a bucket of water upended on it, so whatever it was, the material was pretty nice by Lance’s standards, almost like a wetsuit.

The ground was that same silvery silt, but he wasn’t outside. He was in an enclosed space that was probably _just_ long enough for him to lay down diagonally. Unfortunately, the walls appeared to be metal and not wooden like what Lance had seen in the town. Maybe he was in one of the ‘cubicles.’

No windows, though Lance suspected that with his limited knowledge of the astronomy of this star system he wouldn’t have been able to discern any useful information by looking out of them anyways.

The alien standing before him had a similar coat on to the one that Krieg had been wearing, sans the metal patch. Instead, the alien had a small glass bead sewn onto the front pocket. Maybe he was the alien equivalent of a deputy?

Beyond the alien was the door he had apparently entered the room through. It looked like a pretty simple electronic lock that even Lance with his extremely limited coding knowledge could get through.

It didn’t surprise him that the abandoned planet with a town full of single-story shack buildings wasn’t the most technologically advanced. He remembered the weapons he’d seen back at the bar were all low tech, and even the hover-truck had probably only gotten an inch off of the ground.

Lance supposed the entire sector must have been pretty behind the times because the smuggler ship had been similarly low tech and those guards had the same kind of Galra blasters that had been popularly used about ten thousand years ago. At least Lance thought so, since they looked like dead ringers for the most recent data saved in the Castle Ship before the paladins had arrived and Pidge had started updating the database with more current info.

Apparently Lance had taken too long to accept the food, because the green alien bent over and set the tray down at Lance’s feet before collecting the bucket they had used to wake Lance up and shuffling silently out of the room. The door locked with a click behind them. Which would’ve been fine and all if Lance’s limbs weren’t still _chained to the fucking chair._

“Hey, asshole! I can’t eat the fucking food like this!”

The answering silence was only interrupted by the desperate gurgling of Lance’s stomach.

“Hey, c’mon! _Vuelve,_ you fucking douche!”

Lance wriggled around in his chains, only succeeding in tipping over the glass of water (much to his chagrin). Lance could just make out the sound of two voices arguing in the hallway, so he ceased his movements to try and make out the conversation.

Before Lance could parse out any snippets of the discussion, the snapping voices cut off abruptly and were quickly replaced by a couple of loud thumps. Then _Soldat_ was entering the cramped room. He had to bend over to fit his hulking frame all the way into the room.

Lance made eye contact with the red alien for all of two seconds before looking away. The dude was _freaky,_ what with the extremely sharp looking fangs sticking out of his mouth and the two entirely black orbs that were boring into Lance’s own blue ones.

The aliens on the cargo ship had had normal eyes, white with black pupils. _Did this guy dye his sclera to be more intimidating or something?_ If that was the case, Lance would give him credit because credit was certainly due. The alien was very intimidating.

Lance’s eyes ended up on the ground, staring at the still-bubbling soup that was just out of reach. It really did smell good. Soldat cleared his throat, so Lance looked back up from his feet warily.

He was met with a very menacing glare.

“You are a prisoner of Reifen, arrested for your role in the bombing of this settlement. You will be forced to compete in the Ring for your freedom. The next season of the Ring doesn’t begin for a movement, so until then you will be confined to the cubicles.”

After Soldat finished his little spiel, he procured a ring full of keys from his belt and reached forward to release Lance from his chains. Lance rubbed his wrists appreciatively and frowned.

“Any chance I can convince you of my innocence?”

Soldat gave him a hard stare, not amused at all, before he retreated from the room. At the door, he spoke again.

“You have free reign of the cubicles, but know that any attempts to escape will be met with hostility, as will any attempts to harm your fellow convicts.”

Lance gulped as Soldat left the room, not bothering to lock the door behind him. Lance decided that the first order of business would be eating the food resting at his feet. He snatched the tray from the ground, plopping it on his lap before promptly stuffing his face.

While Lance enjoyed the most sensational food he’d ever had (though strangely enough Lance didn’t find the idea of going back to his old-ass food goo all that revolting -- he supposed he’d grown used to it after three months), he mulled over what he knew.

He was on the planet _Carmen IV_ in a town called Reifen if he had understood Soldat correctly. Presumably in an alternate reality where Voltron was evil and had apparently destroyed a town. He knew the leader of this town was named Krieg, and he gave orders to Soldat. And he knew that in about a week, he’d be competing in something called ‘the Ring.’

Lance had a sneaking suspicion that the Ring might be some kind of organized fight club, like the Galra arena that Shiro had been forced to fight in. It wasn’t all that far fetched, especially considering the fact that Lance had come to the conclusion that he was in an alternate reality. He really hoped he was right about that. This was already a total mind fuck.

Lance finished his last spoonful of bubbly soup (it tasted kind of like root beer), shoved the green bread into his mouth, and washed it all down with what was left of his overturned water glass.

Obviously, escape was a very pressing matter. He needed to get out before he had to go in the Ring, and he needed to get back to Bo.

Lance figured he could explore the rest of the cubicles and maybe locate his confiscated bayard. Once he had that, he could call Red back and -- _Wait a fucking second._

He could just call Red over right now! He’d be busted out, five doboshes tops, and once he had the lion’s help he could easily get his bayard back and be on his way, easy as pie.

Lance’s eyes slipped shut as he focused on his bond with Red. He could just barely feel her, but she didn’t seem to sense his presence. He prodded a bit more, trying to get her attention. There was a strange feedback coming through his connection, bouncing between his unresponsive lion and his open and vulnerable mind.

It felt kind of like the fear he had felt back in the presence of the dick cannon, and as Lance continued trying to connect with Red, the sensation grew and grew, crushing Lance with its weight. Just when the feeling became deafening, Lance’s eyes flew open, stinging with tears.

 _What the fuck was that?_ He’d never felt anything like it before…

Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to try it again for a while. _Guess Red’s out. Time for Plan B._

Lance felt pretty emotionally drained as he stood from the chair he’d probably spent a couple of hours in (but it wasn’t like he had any frame of reference), stretching and wiping the wetness from his eyes.

Cautiously, he peeked his head out of the open doorway. The green alien who had originally brought him his food was sitting on a stool, paging through a real paper book. _Huh._

Lance tentatively left the small room, walked past the green alien in the hall and several other doors that probably led to more cells like Lance’s, before emerging into what must have been the central room of the building. If Lance had any GAC, he would bet this entire building was shaped like a cube. _Very cute._

It wasn’t anything impressive. There was a roped off square of dirt where two aliens were sparring and a large open area where different aliens were exercising with random equipment. There was a curtain partitioning the room, and Lance assumed from the steam rising from that side that that was where the showers and bathrooms were.

Upon his entrance, every alien stopped what they were doing and stared unabashedly at Lance, reminding him of when he had first entered Reifen.

They all looked kind of like they wanted to murder him where he stood, if Lance was being honest. Luckily, everyone was kept in check by several guards ( _the green aliens with the glass beads,_ Lance noted) who were stationed throughout the room.

After thoroughly exploring the facility, Lance found a buffet table behind the curtain and helped himself to seconds of the weird root beer soup. He knew he wouldn’t make it out of this place without his bayard, not against so many armed guards and without the help of the other prisoners.

Lance decided that the best use of his time would be to train up and eat a lot of food while he could, and so the week went by. No one was willing to speak to Lance and he hadn’t seen Soldat since his first day there. Soon enough, a movement had passed with Lance coming no closer to escape, and a different red alien arrived at the cubicles.

Lance and the other prisoners had been lined up against a wall and the alien came down the line, occasionally nodding his head at a convict who would then be quickly restrained with handcuffs. Lance wasn’t surprised when he ended up being one of the chosen prisoners.

Those in handcuffs, nine aliens in total, were led out of the cubicles. Lance was momentarily blinded by the real light that was reflecting off of the planet’s silver surface, having been locked indoors for so long, but he was shoved along by a green alien and ended up crammed onto the bench in the rear of a hover-truck that was slightly larger than the one Soldat had driven. He could confirm from his seat that the cubicles were a literal metal cube.

They drove through the silver desert in silence, eventually arriving at a large metal complex in the middle of nowhere, much further away from Reifen than the cubicles had been.

The prisoners were marched inside, led through twisting and turning hallways that Lance tried his best to keep track of, before they were each locked into a room (that was thankfully much larger than the cubicles and had an actual bed).

Lance tried to contact Red again, just for kicks, but this time he couldn’t even sense her presence. He laid down on the rigid metal surface (no mattress, but it was like his bed in Red’s cargo hold, so it wasn’t the worst) and let his mind wander. 

He thought about Bo somewhere out in the desert, of Red with her half-charged power core, of his friends that he hadn’t seen for almost four months now. Of Keith, who he hadn’t seen in much longer.

If Lance could survive a bomb explosion, actually dying at the Omega Shield station, and the blast from the weird druid dick cannon, he could surely survive a couple of pit fights with random aliens.

He drifted off to a fitful sleep.

***

Lance perused the weapons selection, fingers dancing over various blades, clubs, and weird alien weapons that Lance couldn’t put a name to. He settled on a badass looking two-bladed sword. It handled enough like a staff, which Matt had helped Lance train with a while ago, but it had the added bonus of being _stabby._ Lance liked the way it felt in his hands.

He approached the door to the arena, which slid down into the floor at his proximity, and then Lance was hit with the full force of the roaring alien crowd. There were thousands of aliens packed into what could’ve only been described as a _colosseum._

There was no roof and all three stars were shining brightly overhead, illuminating the circle of metallic grey dirt that a dead alien was currently being dragged out of. There was a large megascreen on the far side of the arena, where the alien that had just won the round was grinning with a victorious smirk, pumping two out of four bloody fists. An announcer’s voice could be heard over the deafening crowd.

“What a fine take-down that was from Verlierer. That’s three in a row, folks! Her next challenger is someone you all know, and you all _hate!_ Let’s give the Black Paladin a warm welcome, everybody!

It took a moment for Lance to realize the megascreen was showing his face (Because they’d just called him the _Black_ Paladin! If they were going to make him fight random aliens to the death, the least they could do was get his title right!), but then the guard gave him a shove and he was walking down the dirt path that led to the central arena.

The aliens were booing and jeering at him, so he ignored them and gripped his two-bladed sword in strong hands. He was prepared for this. Probably.

Lance hadn’t realized there was no official referee or anyone to announce the start of the fight (but in hindsight he should’ve expected as much). He’d been entirely unprepared when he took a single step beyond the boundary of the Ring (which was somehow soundproofed -- he could no longer hear the crowd or the announcer) and found a fearsome alien coming at him at full speed with a broadsword.

“Holy quizn--”

Lance met her initial swing with his own sword, grunting at the effort. They quickly fell into a practiced rhythm. Thrust. Parry. Dodge. Jab. They appeared to be fairly evenly matched, despite his opponent having just fought three previous battles.

Lance grew desperate as his arms started burning from the strain of keeping up with the hulking alien woman, and he broke his pattern in a last-ditch effort to get the upper hand, aiming for the alien’s wrist and successfully jabbing it, causing her to drop her broadsword.

She was quick to retaliate, though, and soon Lance was also disarmed and locked in a choke hold. He struggled to break free, fingers scratching at her arms and eyes watering.

He wracked his brain for every time Shiro or Keith had had him in this exact same position. _How had he broke the hold?_

Unfortunately for Lance, the alien decided to modify her positioning to inflict more damage. Her extra set of arms drifted down to lay across his abs, before she _squeezed._

Lance would’ve screamed if he had any air. He was pretty sure she’d just snapped half of his ribs like twigs.

Growing light headed, Lance’s arms dropped from the alien’s flexing bicep. _Fuck me, if this is the way I die… this is so lame!_ Even as he thought that, his fingers brushed over metal, and he scrambled to grab the woman’s discarded broadsword.

Lance was pretty certain he was going to pass out in ten seconds, but with his last remaining strength, he gripped the broadsword ( _by the fucking blade, God that stings_ ), swinging it over his head.

He heard the dull _thunk_ of the sword handle connecting with the alien’s head, quickly followed by her grip on Lance’s neck loosening.

Lance gulped in precious lungfuls of air as he wriggled out of the stunned alien’s grip, rounding on her with the sword which was now gripped properly in his hands. Lance didn’t stop to think, he just swung the sword.

And beheaded the fucking alien. _Holy shit._

Her head landed in the dirt with a sickening thud, and then green alien guards were flooding the arena, grabbing Lance’s discarded double-bladed sword as well as the two _separate_ parts of the alien’s body and dragging her corpse out of the Ring.

Lance was kind of panicking. There was blood dripping off of his sword. He’d just killed a person. Sure, she was trying to kill him, but he’d just straight up executed her.

Lance looked up from the sword in his bloody grip in alarm at the sound of footsteps back in the arena. The next fight was already beginning. His new opponent wasn’t charging him immediately, just sizing Lance up.

Which was nice, because Lance was still on the verge of a panic attack. _Calm down, Lance._ Cálmate. _Focus on what’s happening right now. Patience yields focus, yada yada yada._

If the lady that he had just… defeated had already killed three prisoners, that left three other prisoners unaccounted for out of the nine he had come here with (not including Lance himself and the small blue-green alien who had entered the Ring). Lance had no way of knowing if any of those three unaccounted for aliens had already fought. _One battle at a time, Lance._

A new wave a calm washed over him along with the second wind he was feeling the effects of. Emboldened, Lance made the first move this time. His opponent had chosen a small dagger, which Lance decided meant that this new alien wasn’t a threat.

He was very wrong. As he came hurtling forward, sword raised and ready, the alien deftly dodged his swing, swiping at Lance with his dagger. Lance felt the cut on his forearm a second later, stinging as blood slowly seeped out of it.

Lance tried again, and again, but each attack was easily avoided by the smaller alien, and each attempted swing gained Lance a new cut. One gash on his forehead was causing thick blood to run into his eyes.

Lance decided to switch tactics, dropping the heavy broadsword. He would try hand-to-hand (or hand-to-knife, as it were). Feeling slightly woozy from the bloodloss, Lance’s movements were a lot slower than they had been at the beginning of the fight. The alien clearly had the upper hand.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know human biology very well (or maybe he just missed his mark). The blue-green alien darted forward, dodging Lance’s fist and slamming the dagger into Lance’s upper thigh, causing him to fall to his knees and wrenching a scream out of him. Not a fatal blow, though, and that was the alien’s mistake.

Now that he was close enough and Lance was conveniently on his knees, he was able to execute a double-leg takedown, sending the alien crashing to the dirt. Lance ripped the dagger out of his thigh without a second thought before burying it in the alien’s head.

He yanked it out and drove it in four more times, until the body below him stopped twitching.

As he stood up, watching the guards drag the new body away, Lance felt his ribs protesting the movement. He was out of adrenaline. Lance looked around the arena, bending over to pick up the broadsword again and locking eyes with Soldat in a special viewing box to his side. He wondered if--

Before Lance could search for another familiar face, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Another opponent was entering the fighting pit.

Lance wiped the blood from his eyes, sizing up the new prisoner that had entered the arena. The second she set foot in the Ring, she was charging at him with a ferocity that would’ve been alarming if Lance hadn’t just fought and killed two other aliens. Apparently her weapon of choice was a spear, which Lance found hurtling at him a second after the fact registered.

He swung his sword, knocking the spear aside with a _klang_ before it could lodge itself in his gut, but he didn’t leave enough time to dodge the female alien who proceeded to barrel into him like she was a fucking train.

The air was knocked out of his lungs and his sword was knocked from his grip. Lance landed on his back with a two-hundred pound alien on top of him, his cracked ribs screaming at him.

Good thing he’d grown up with three older siblings. Grappling came as easily to Lance as breathing (but to be fair, in normal situations breathing would be a lot easier than it was right now).

Just as the alien pulled back to begin pummeling Lance, he grabbed her neck and brought her face down onto his left elbow, smiling slightly at the _crunch_ before using the alien’s momentary distraction to roll on top of her, using his legs to pin her arms beside her body.

Then _Lance_ was the one doing the pummeling, beating her face into an unrecognizable bloody pulp. He knew he had to finish this.

With one hand, Lance gripped the bloody fur (hair?) on the alien’s head, using it to slam her skull into the unforgiving dirt ground over and over again, his other hand searching blindly for his sword. When he found it, he brought it arcing over his head, driving it into the alien woman’s chest.

She coughed wetly, and then her body fell still.

Lance rolled onto his side, thoroughly exhausted. Even with all of the months of training, his body had not been prepared for this. He was lucky that the aliens had afforded him that movement at the cubicles to get back into fighting shape.

A cursory glance at the faces of the crowd nearest to him told him that he could forget any fantasies he had been entertaining about the woman he had just defeated being his final opponent.

As guards came in to collect the fresh corpse, Lance’s eyes found Soldat’s again, and then he looked over and saw _Krieg._

“C’mon, c’mon, please…” Lance whispered, shutting his eyes even as he heard the footfalls of a new opponent entering the Ring.

But then he felt it, a power thrumming through his veins that was coming from Krieg, or rather what Krieg had stupidly brought into the arena stands with him. Lance grinned as his bayard materialized in his hand, immediately morphing into his rifle.

He turned and took down the new prisoner with a fatal headshot.

The body dropped, and then complete and utter pandemonium erupted in the arena.

Someone had lowered the soundproof barrier around the Ring, and the cacophony of outraged alien cries nearly bowled Lance over. They were streaming down from the stands, trying to climb over the railings and get into the arena.

Lance felt a bullet _zing_ by his head and decided it was time to make like a tree. None of the aliens had managed to clear the barriers surrounding the fighting pit yet, so Lance was able to run across the open stretch of metallic grey to the dirt path he’d entered with, flying past the automatic door and the waiting room with the weapons.

Lance rounded a corner, only to nearly run straight into Soldat. Lance’s bayard turned into a sword before he even thought about it, instincts taking over. Soldat had a gun, but it was useless in close quarters combat.

Lance used one arm to shove the barrel of Soldat’s gun away and in one fluid motion rammed his sword into the red alien’s chest, but as he did so Soldat chomped down on Lance’s shoulder with those terrifying fangs.

Lance yelled, kicking the body off of his sword and grabbing at his burning shoulder. The wound was bubbling. _For future reference, the giant red aliens have poison spit or something._ Lance wasn’t planning on getting bit again in the near future anyways.

As an afterthought, Lance patted around in Soldat’s pockets, finding the keys to his hover-truck before he moved along down the hall.

Lance easily fought his way past any guards he encountered, his bayard switching between his preferred weapons depending on the situation, and before he knew it he was bursting out of the complex and into the open desert of _Carmen IV._

He ran past rows of hover-bikes and trucks, trying to find the right one. Funnily enough, it turned out Soldat was the only alien in Reifen who hadn’t bothered with an exterior or a paint job, so Lance quickly stumbled across the hover-truck with it’s mess of exposed machinery.

Lance jammed the key in the ignition and the truck began floating just as the main doors to the stadium slammed open, angry aliens swarming the lot.

He heard shouts of recognition as he gunned the engine, speeding in the opposite direction of where he knew Reifen was. He would find the big river from out in the desert and follow it back to Red.

There were too many aliens in the way for any of them to get into their vehicles and give chase in a timely manner, and soon enough the stadium and the murderous mob were merely specks in Lance’s rear view.

Lance couldn’t help but laugh gleefully as he left the Ring behind, even if the action caused his ribs to _sing_ with pain. Lance erased all thoughts of the five aliens he had just murdered in cold blood, choosing instead to think of his impending escape. The only thing that mattered was making sure Bo was okay and getting back to Red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe I love my German alien law enforcement group yes I do. Is the city name Reifen German for tires? Yes. Does that have anything to do with the story? No.
> 
> If you couldn’t tell by now, my writing style is extremely inconsistent and plot driven! Oops.
> 
> I was too lazy to reread this chapter so I hope there's no mistakes sorry :(
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**


	8. Feel Like I'm Livin' On My Own Planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots of Lance's time on _Carmen IV._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Feel like I'm livin' on my own planet" is from “Space Cadet” by Metro Boomin
> 
> THIS IS REAL IMPORTANT BEFORE YOU START so you have the right mental image: Lance’s mask is like MCU Starlord’s so his cute hair is sticking up and he looks really cool ye ken?
> 
> Okay, full disclosure to everyone who liked where the story was at: this chapter is going to be a bit of a departure. Stuff is about to get kind of dark and angsty, but I promise Lance will find himself again. So bare with me for this. I just felt like a really good character arc for Lance would be learning how to survive on his own and how to deal with the guilt of his actions. Plus, when he comes out the other side, he’ll have gained like +10 badass points. What can I say, I’m a hoe for giving Lance traumatic experiences.

Lance had never been more wrong about something in his life ( _not strictly true_ ).

He had found _a_ river, but it had apparently been the wrong one. Since Reifen had been built at the river mouth, Lance had driven alongside the river, going the same direction of its flow.

He’d only driven for a couple of hours before he realized that the way _Carmen IV_ spun on its axis and orbited the stars (or maybe the stars orbited the planet?) resulted in it being perpetually day where he was on the planet’s surface. The three stars in the sky changed positions minutely throughout Lance’s journey, but he still couldn’t use them to tell the hour.

An unidentifiable amount of time later, Soldat’s shitty hover-truck gave one last pitiful shudder before it’s power cut out and it landed on the rocky riverbank with a _thump._ Lance had been forced to abandon the vehicle, checking it for any useful supplies before he went on. He found a bag of… American quarters? He dumped the bag out and found that there were also Indian rupees and some South Korean won. _Earth currency._ He also found a pistol with three bullets in the chamber wrapped in a smallish patterned cloth, not unlike a bandana.

Since then, Lance had been casually swimming down the river. The cold water felt wonderful on his broken ribs and all of his assorted cuts and bruises. Meanwhile, the weird metallic suit that the aliens had given him at the cubicles in Reifen acted kind of like a swimsuit. Lance was content to float down the medium-paced river, bayard gripped in one hand and gun gripped in the other. He’d stuffed the small coin pouch up his sleeve.

While he floated, he once again tried to find Red. Lance thought having his bayard back might somehow boost the signal or something ( _Honestly, how does all this Altean alchemy business even work?_ ), but he couldn’t sense her presence at all.

Maybe she had accepted Bo as her new paladin and they were busy flying off to the next sector where everything was normal and Voltron was waiting for them. Lance nearly choked on water when his random stream-of-consciousness thoughts started a surprise laughing fit.

Lance lost track of time again. In hindsight, this entire solo adventure of his had really fucked up his internal clock. First, three months floating through space that felt like three years, then a couple of weeks on a random alien planet that didn’t have nighttime. He didn’t even know exactly how long he’d been gone anymore, and that thought alone was startling.

Eventually, after what Lance guessed may have been at least a few days because his stomach was _howling_ at him, he realized that he was approaching a new settlement and quickly hopped out of the river (it was insane how pruny his fingers were, but he could hardly bring himself to care).

The alien suit really _was_ useful. Just like the time one of those green aliens had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head, the suit dried within seconds.

Lance checked his pistol, wincing when he saw that it was clogged with water. Submerging an antique firearm in cold water had probably been a dumb idea. Lance tossed the gun back into the river forlornly. He used the blue bandana cloth that had been wrapped around the gun to cover his face and ears. Maybe he could avoid detection as a human in the next town. He remembered seeing some vaguely humanoid aliens back at the cubicles and the bar that he could’ve passed for.

Now the only problem was his bayard. It very clearly marked him as a Voltron paladin, but for all of the uses his prison suit had, it didn’t have any pockets. Lance knew Pidge’s bayard could morph into something that was smaller than it’s dormant form, so maybe…

Lance shouted in triumph as his bayard morphed into a thick bangle-style bracelet that fit perfectly over his wrist. _Nice! Functional_ and _stylish._

Sufficiently prepared, Lance approached the town, which had a cool metal gateway arching over the river to mark its borders. If he could find a marketplace or something, he could buy some weapons that were more suitable for where he was and maybe even get directions back to Reifen.

He wandered into town, ducking his head when he noticed those green aliens with glass beads on their jackets. He must’ve been close enough to Reifen if the law enforcement looked the same.

This town was smaller and more compact than Reifen had been. The buildings here looked even worse than the shacks he had seen before. Most of these ones looked dilapidated, and there were scorch marks and rubble piles all over the place. Clear evidence of a bombing. Apparently this town hadn’t recovered as quickly as Reifen had.

Lance wandered for a bit, trying to look inconspicuous, but then he followed the sounds of overlapping alien chatter and ended up in an open dirt square filled with stalls. Aliens of all species were shouting their wares to the large community that was milling about. Exactly what Lance was looking for.

He had successfully avoided detection as a human for the most part (his darker complexion was actually helpful in that regard -- he almost resembled whatever thin and willowy species that the woman who was selling bottles of Heinz ketchup belonged to), but Lance supposed his attire and general state of dishevelment outed him as a convict.

So the first thing Lance ended up doing was stealing a cool looking dark brown duster coat that was made of a fabric that was like a cross between leather and cotton from one of the clothing stalls (that also had a rack of baseball T-shirts that looked suspiciously like Lance’s old one). It probably wasn’t the kind of thing a paladin of Voltron should have been doing, but he had very limited funds. And besides, he looked kind of badass.

After donning the stolen attire and covering his shiny convict suit, Lance was able to wander more freely throughout the market square. The first thing he found was a really cool full coverage mask. It locked over his entire face, but he could still see really well through the lenses and it was well ventilated. Plus, it covered up any facial features, including his ears, that easily identified him as human. He exchanged a handful of coins (apparently they were all worth the same here) with the yellow slug alien running the booth.

Lance slunk off to another alley where he slid the bandana down so it was just on his neck before putting on his newly purchased mask. Now he just needed some weapons.

He did a couple of circuits around the market, selecting two pearl-handled pistols that came with really cool shoulder holsters, a small revolver, an antique sniper rifle that shot surprisingly straight (he got to test it at a very unsafe practice range in the back of the seller’s tent), three small knives which he tucked into various pockets of his duster, and a bandolier.

He felt ready to take on the world by the time he spent the final coins in his pouch.

Lance backtracked to the main part of town. He decided the next order of business would be to socialize and figure out where he was and how to get back to Reifen. _And what better place to socialize than the bar that looked eerily similar to the one he’d first been arrested in?_ Hopefully this time around he could avoid bumping into the shariff.

Lance swaggered over to a table in the back where several aliens were playing cards.

“Deal me in?” he asked in the most suave voice he could muster. He didn’t have the aid of his charming smile to help him out anymore (which, to be fair, never seemed to help him out much even when he could use it).

The alien nearest to him, a purple one that looked like it could’ve been a half-breed, sneered at him.

“You and that ratty trench coat? What’ve you got fir the pot, scum?”

 _Right._ Lance had conveniently forgot he was broke after that shopping spree.

He was about to back out and try his luck with the cluster of pretty ladies on the other side of the bar that he probably should have gone to first anyways, but then another yellow slug alien was gesturing to his wrist.

“How’s about that nice lookin’ wrist piece, ay? You c’n play for that,” he slurred out. Lance thought that whatever species he was, they were all rather repulsive.

Lance eyes the pot. He could use the money, and he was fairly certain that the aliens were playing a variant of five card stud. Mama had sat all of the McClains down one night and taught them how to play poker and bridge and gin. The next week, Abuelo had come over and they’d spent the entire day playing card games with their grandfather. It was one of Lance’s happiest memories. He’d never had a very good poker face, but he supposed the mask would help him out in that regard.

“Sure,” Lance said, nonchalantly tossing his bayard onto the pile before picking up the cards he was dealt. If he lost the game, he could just summon the bayard to him and… well, then he’d probably have to steal a vehicle to get out of town, but that wasn’t part of the plan. Lance was a winner, after all.

He was alarmed to see that they were playing with an actual Bicycle deck. _How far has human space travel gotten in this reality?_ There was evidence of humans everywhere in this town. Maybe there had been in Reifen, too, but Lance never got the chance to see it.

He actually got a pretty lucky draw, starting off with half of a royal flush and a pair of red aces. Play went around the table of ten or so aliens silently, so Lance tried to pry some information out of the squirrely group.

“So… where are you all from?”

Most of the aliens ignored him. Some were leering at him like they wanted to eat him. The purple half-breed was the one to answer him.

“Where d’ya think we’re from, smart ass? You ain’t from around here, is you?”

“You caught me. I’m not from around here. I need to get back to Reifen.”

That, surprisingly, got the interest of most of the aliens at the table, who looked up from their hands in curiosity and annoyance alike.

“What is this, yur first quintant on _Carmen?_ Ain’t no way you’s getting back to Reifen in a movement,” one of the aliens responded gruffly. “Ain’t no way.”

“Who said anything about a movement? Point me in the right direction and I’m gone!” Lance said, growing tired of being patronized by these people.

He just got more chuckles in reply. At least he had successfully gotten his royal flush.

“The Great Storm’s rolling around in a movement, fresh meat,” a comparatively well-spoken alien said, earning another round of chuckles. “Storm’s gonna last eight phoebs. Seems like you’ll be weathering it here with us,” he said with a smirk.

“Seriously? The sky is literally clear right now!” Lance said as he slammed his royal flush down. Most of the aliens grumbled, but a few were already reaching for weapons and Lance really didn’t know what he’d expected from this table of assholes.

“Hey, I won fair and square. I’m taking my money, and I’m leaving,” Lance said, as he started doing just that. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he put his bayard back on his wrist.

“The hell you are, runt! You’s a cheat!”

Before Lance could say anything to defend his honor, the half-breed piped in again.

“How’s about an old fashioned showdown? It’s been a while, hasn’t it, boys?”

The question was answered with a bout of drunken cheers, and before Lance knew it he was being shoved outside into the dusty street, standing back to back with an orange alien with some impressive wings. Half-breed spoke again.

“Listen up, I want a fair match, you hear me, slugs? Now, on my mark ya take ten steps, ya turn, ya draw, and ya shoot. Questions?”

Lance raised his hand immediately, and the crowd that had gathered erupted into playful yells and laughter.

“Mark!”

 _Oh, fuck._ Lance tipped forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. Which step was he on? He was about to spin and draw when a bullet zipped over his head. He was pretty sure it had singed his hair.

While the orange alien spent precious seconds reloading their gun, Lance aimed and fired. Well, he would have if his gun hadn’t jammed.

The crowd was vibrating with excitement as the most exciting showdown they’d probably ever seen unfolded before them. The other alien fired another shot, but Lance did a cartwheel (Keith would have literally killed him for that, but maybe his broken ribs would save Keith the trouble) and drew his other revolver when he landed. He cocked the gun and fired three shots in quick succession, doing that thing he’d seen on TV where he held down the trigger and hit the hammer repeatedly.

The orange alien went down with a triangle of bullet holes in his forehead, and the crowd of aliens screamed, converging on the body to loot it. _Holy shit._

Lance had just killed… maybe his fifth person? Sixth? He was feeling kind of desensitized to it by now. If he hadn’t killed that man, Lance would’ve been the one killed. It was as simple as that. Lance needed to survive.

He wasn’t really sure what post-showdown protocol was, so he stood there awkwardly until the half-breed purple alien turned up again, gesturing Lance over to a cluster of aliens that were discussing things in the doorway of the cleared-out bar. When Lance got there, they all quieted down and the half-breed spoke again.

“You’re pretty good in a fight, fresh meat. My friends here are gonna tell ya some things, ‘nd you're gonna listen.” Lance nodded when he realized the alien expected an answer from him. Then, another gross yellow slug guy was talking.

“We understand you’re tryin’ to get to Reifen. You’ll have a hell of a time gettin’ through the Storm alone, but we know a guy who’s got th’ tech to get you where ya need to go.” Another purple half-breed alien cut in.

“So the deal is, you work for us, maybe about five phoebs. We’ll pay you for your services, and once you’ve got enough money we’ll connect you with our guy.”

Lance processed that for a second. Five months _was_ less than eight, which is how long the Great Storm supposedly lasted. Lance wondered if the Great Storm was a real thing. He had several questions.

“You’re going to need to clarify some things before I even think about accepting your kind offer,” Lance said, turning on the charm. “One: what services are we talking about, exactly? Two: I definitely need to see this mysterious guy and whatever tech he’s packing.”

The first half-breed looked him over appraisingly, as if deciding whether Lance was worth all of this trouble.

“We’ll employ ya as a mercenary, pay you for individual jobs. You can take other contracts, but ours take priority. Ours as in mine. I’m Zug, you’d best not forget it. And you’re not gonna see our guy until you can pay his fee. Now are ya in or out?”

If Lance was being honest, it didn’t seem like the worst deal. He could always bail if it turned out the Storm was a joke, and in the meanwhile he’d be making dough. And really, this was a survival situation. Lance could stomach killing people if it meant he could get Red back to Voltron. It was for the greater good, and these people were already criminals. _Right?_

“I believe you’ve got yourself a deal, _partner,_ ” Lance crowed in the best Texan accent he could muster. If he was going to do this, he would at least have some fun with it.

***

It was either good news or bad news. Lance couldn’t really decide. The news being that the Great Storm was by no means a hoax. A week after Lance’s showdown, a metallic haze descended from the heavens and coated the planet’s entire surface.

Lance had never seen anything like it. The most advanced technology that _Carmen IV_ had to offer were the particle barriers that materialized over Nagel, the town that Lance had been living in for just over two phoebs, and presumably the other settlements, protecting them from the harsh Storm beyond. To be fair, Alteans had particle barriers ten thousand years ago, so Lance still wasn’t very impressed.

A while ago, Lance would’ve been bothered by the position he was in, lying on his stomach, but his ribs had finally healed no thanks to the only doctor in town. Lance took another swig of his alien whiskey before turning back to his sniper scope. He was set up on the rooftop opposite Nagel’s only bank. Ironically enough, Lance had robbed the bank just last movement with some of Dachs’ men, but since the entire city was essentially trapped within a bubble, money circulated around again pretty quickly.

Anyways, this time Molly had sent him out on a pretty easy job by Lance standards, or Leandro standards, since that was the name he’d been going by for two months. The job was actually really funny. He had been hired by Molly to take out six targets and intercept the exact same heist he’d participated in a few days ago. Dachs himself had a bullet with his name on it.

Lance tried not to play favorites with his clients, but he had always liked Molly. She cooked a mean root pie (that tasted suspiciously like chocolate but was not, in fact), and she always saved him a dose of Zip, even when it was in high demand.

Zip was the only drug on _Carmen,_ which Lance had initially been skeptical to try, but Klammer had turned him onto it. Lance figured it was like liquid weed, or something. It had no bad side effects for humans, which was more than Klammer could say. The guy was always barfing his guts out following a couple of blissful vargas.

Lance liked Zip because it calmed his nerves and keep his hands steady, which was great for when he got hired to kill people (which was pretty much every other job), because Lance almost always got cold feet. Well, he did before. Now he had Zip to help him through it.

The other thing he appreciated about the drug was that it mixed just fine with alcohol, at least for humans. _Cheers to that,_ Lance thought to himself as he took another swig of whiskey. He was technically only 19, but Lance was a soldier in an intergalactic war (and currently an active mercenary), so he figured he deserved a break.

He set down his flask when he noticed the first member of the crew bursting out of the bank and into the relatively calm street. It was always dark now, thanks to the metal storm that blotted out the sky, but Lance had a timepiece that said it was around two in the morning. Most people were fast asleep from their nights of crime and debauchery.

Lance had learned pretty quickly that the law didn’t mean shit in Nagel, anyways. The green aliens (a species called Anbauen) with their fancy badges clearly didn’t have as much authority in this city as they did in Reifen. There was no Ring, and the deputized aliens hardly did anything besides occasionally rough up a petty thief. They tended to steer clear of Lance’s business when they could. Didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

Lance counted eight people emerging from the bank, each with two sacks of coins slung over their shoulders, and finally Dachs brought up the rear. Nine people, six of them targets, and he needed to get at least twelve bags if he wanted his full pay from Molly.

He turned back to his scope, inhaling, then took the first shot. By now, he was an expert at aiming while mildly intoxicated.

He took out Dachs and his second target, going from the back so he’d get the most time before the rest of the crew saw what was up, but then the coin sacks were jingling as two bodies hit the floor and the other aliens were scattering.

“Aw hell, Leandro!” he heard… maybe it was Magie, yelling out from where she had taken cover.

“Sorry _hermana,_ it’s just business!” Lance called right back, shooting a third alien that tried to peak his head over the crate he was hiding behind. He had the remaining six aliens pinned down in the street. They weren’t going anywhere.

“We had a date tonight!” she said harshly. Lance whipped his head back around, trying to pinpoint her hiding spot.

“Oh, c’mon. When have I ever gone on a date?”

He heard a mumble that sounded suspiciously like “You go out with Klammer at least once a movement.”

“I heard that, Magie!” Lance called out as he picked off another crew member who had been trying to make a break for it. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not one of my targets. You and Dejar and Ziel can get out of here for all I care!”

Lance’s keen eyes picked up the movements of all three people shifting, as if they would take up his offer, and then Dejar came out with her hands up. Lance shot her in the head, and he saw Ziel shrink back down behind the metal canister he was using for cover.

“That was a dirty fuckin’ play, Leandro! I know you ain’t got a contract for all of us!”

Lance chuckled, setting his rifle down and drinking more whiskey. Thank God Magie had happened to be on Dachs’ crew, now the job was a lot more fun.

He got a little too distracted trying to find Magie in the maze of crates outside of the bank and missed Ziel making a run for it. He was pretty far down the street, probably already out of any other sniper in Nagel’s range.

There was a reason why Lance’s services were in such high demand, though. He inhaled, bringing the scope up to his eye. He had the runner in his crosshairs, and then he was exhaling and squeezing the trigger. A perfect headshot, as always.

“Alright, Magie! I’m coming down now, no more games. I just need to collect the money on the six guys I shot, then I’m outta here!” Lance called as he slid off of the roof, slinging his rifle onto his back.

Magie emerged, grabbing the money bags off of two dead aliens closest to her while her only two living companions scrambled to get as far away from Lance as they could.

“You owe me a date,” she growled as she dumped the money into Lance’s arms. “And a new crew, while you’re at it.”

Lance grinned, and he knew that she couldn’t see it, so he nudged her shoulder as he lugged his pile of ten sacks of coins over to the trunk of the hover-truck that he had parked behind the building whose roof he had just been occupying for the past half-varga. He would have to go down the street to get Ziel’s bags.

“How about a ride back to Molly’s,” he offered instead. Magie made a show of thinking about it, her green ears twitching (Lance guessed that she was a cross between a Galra and an Anbauen) before she hopped into the passenger seat of Lance’s truck. He laughed at her pout.

Lance pulled over to collect the last two bags of coins from Ziel’s dead body, then he was gunning it for Molly’s. Root pie sounded heavenly right about now.

***

Lance had been asleep in his room above Zug’s bar when there was a loud banging on his door.

Lance slept in his prison suit (which he’d gotten patched up not long after he started making money) with a revolver under the pillow, so he tucked that gun into the custom pocket at the small of his back and threw on his shoulder holsters as he shuffled over to the door, which was still being banged on _way too loudly_ for the horrible hangover Lance was nursing.

He paused at the mirror by his bed, checking out his hair, which he’d used a sharp knife to fashion into a sort of fade-away undercut style, before popping his mask on over his face.

“The fuck do you want?” he slurred, ears ringing as he flung his door open.

“Leandro, the guys need you downstairs to settle a bet,” said Klammer, who was definitely high out of his mind. Oh well. Lance was too. He followed his friend downstairs into the main bar, and upon his arrival the mob of aliens were all cheering and slapping each other on the back.

“Oi, Le, get over here! Vene thinks you can’t beat the record for Six-Bottle!”

Lance blinked incredulously, looking between all of the aliens who were watching him eagerly.

“I’m the one who _set_ the current fucking record, you morons!”

“Exactly,” Vene piped up from her seat at the bar. “Ain’t no way a man can shoot faster ‘n four ticks. _No_ way!” she finished, swaying in her seat.

“You guys woke me up to make me shoot bottles?”

“It’s noon!” Klammer yelled right back at him, and Lance cringed at the round of boisterous laughter that erupted from the gathered company.

“What’s in it for me if I beat the record?” Lance asked, already spinning the cylinder of a revolver, checking to make sure his baby was fully loaded.

They all turned to each other, as if unsure of what they had to offer. Before they could come up with anything worth his time, Zug was emerging from the back room. The aliens parted for him, and then he was standing right in front of Lance.

“Get dressed, Leandro. Got a job fir ya,” he said, retreating just as quickly as he had appeared.

Lance groaned. He was coming up on his fourth phoeb in this god-forsaken town and it seemed like every time he checked his bank account, the numbers were going down. He was supposed to be out of here in another phoeb!

He knew in reality he could probably meet his goal if he worked a couple more of Zug’s jobs. Maybe if he took Magie’s new crew up on that horribly planned heist. Could be fun. And Molly always had a spare job to offer him. He’d be out of here in no time.

As Lance made his way to the staircase, Vene called after him.

“When you’re done being Zug’s lapdog, you get yer ass back ‘ere and break us some records!” Lance smiled to himself as the other aliens cheered, their voices eventually dissolving back into the bar’s atmosphere as Lance closed his door behind him.

***

“Molly… I can explain,” Lance said slowly, raising his hands.

He had gotten lazy, stripped off his mask behind Molly’s to get a breath of fresh air for once, and then Molly herself had shuffled out of the back entrance, probably to grab the fresh crates of roots and drinks that had been delivered a couple of doboshes ago. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Now Lance was staring at her, his very-human face on full display, and he couldn’t read the older woman’s emotions at all. So he went to his immediate panic mode, which was rambling.

“It’s not what it looks like! You know, there’s actually plenty of alien species with shape-shifting capabilities, l’m just… Well, actual--”

“Leandro,” Molly said as she cocked her hip, thoroughly unimpressed.

“I mean, I don’t even know--”

“Leandro, _shut up._ Look at my face,” she said in an eerily calm voice.

Lance slowly looked up from the silver dirt, taking in Molly’s expression. She didn’t look angry or murderous, but then again, Molly never did. She looked old, and _tired._ Her orange skin was wrinkled from many years of a difficult life, but her stance suggested that nothing she had been through had broken her. She looked strong, and she looked like she didn’t want to hurt Lance. He blinked at her.

“Now _you_ listen to _me,_ boy. I used to be a slave. You must’ve figured by now that some of us were,” she said as she gestured around vaguely at the surrounding town of Nagel. “I knew as soon as you set foot in my restaurant that you were a human.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. This admission from Molly was actually kind of scary. _Who else knew? Did Molly hate him this whole time?_ He was about to start apologizing, but Molly held a finger to his lips. It had been so long since anyone had touched his skin that he nearly flinched.

“To be honest, Leandro, I have a feeling that many people here suspect your true identity. But you have earned their respect. You have earned my respect,” she said in her strong, unwavering voice, and Lance’s breath hitched at what she said next.

“You’re like a son to me, and I cannot hold your species against you,” she murmured with a soft smile as she swiped at the tears that Lance hadn’t noticed were falling from his traitorous eyes.

“Molly--” he choked out, but his breath hitched and then he was enveloped in the first hug he had had in what seemed like _forever._ Lance felt so safe in this alien woman’s arms.

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time. You’ll always be welcome here, son,” she said as she rubbed comforting circles on his back.

“Thank you,” was all Lance could whisper as he clung to this woman. He realized that he loved her like a mother, too. “God, Molly, thank you,” he breathed out as his body continued to shake with sobs of relief.

“Now get that mask back on and come help me bake a new batch of root pies,” she said as she stepped back, holding him at arm’s length for a second before turning to grab the boxes she had come outside to get in the first place.

Lance wiped at his nose, offering a shaky but sincere smile that felt alien on his lips. Like flexing old muscles that hadn’t been used in a very long time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

He’d been fucking shot. _Shot twice, actually._

It was by no means the first time Lance had been shot, but this time was different because he’d been shot by _Zug._

“Can you believe this bullshit?” Lance yelled at Klammer, who was taking cover behind a barrel a few feet away from him. Lance wasn’t _actually_ surprised that Zug had been full of shit and didn't really know anyone who could get Lance through the Storm, but he could still feign outrage.

Klammer hadn’t wanted to be here, but Lance promised they’d head over to Molly’s for some Zip afterwards and that was all it took. Now, they were caught in a giant shoot out with Zug’s men on one side of the street and anyone unfortunate enough to have been on the road cowering behind barrels alongside Lance.

He didn’t really have a plan for this situation. The constant rain of bullets was enough of a deterrent to convince Lance that running was a horrible option. He had his pistols, no sniper rifle, his friend who was basically non-functionally high right now, and apparently he could look forward to waiting out the final four phoebs of the Storm right where he was because _Zug was a lying good for nothing asshat._

Oh, and lest he forget, Lance had two bullets lodged in his shoulder. _All in all, not good._

He knew most of the people shooting at him right now, and they knew him. Maybe if he killed Zug they’d stop? On the other hand, Lance was well known throughout Nagel for killing anyone and everyone, so maybe they wouldn’t trust him enough for that.

To be fair, he refused to kill Klammer, Magie, or Molly. They were the only people on this silver rock that Lance had actually grown to care for. In some moments, Magie reminded Lance of Allura and sometimes even Keith, and Klammer reminded him of Hunk (except that he was a drug addict). Molly was like his mother or Abuela or Veronica… but everything was so different on _Carmen IV_ that it gave Lance a headache trying to think of his past life. He was Leandro now, a wild west mercenary, known throughout Nagel for his deadly accuracy. _That,_ Lance could wrap his head around.

Back to the issue at hand. He was pinned down by gunfire, facing twelve men including Zug by his count, and Klammer was basically dead weight. _Did that idiot even bring a gun?_

Lance decided to go for Plan O as in the _only fucking plan he had_ and grabbed a 10 Yuan out of his pocket, rubbing his thumb on it until it shined and angling it to get a view of Zug across the street. He couldn’t risk losing his cover, so he would have to shoot _backwards_ using a goddamn coin as a mirror. Definitely not ideal.

He maneuvered his revolver on his shoulder, adjusting his aim with the coin, and fired. A miss. Lance adjusted his aim slightly, trying again. This shot clipped Zug in the shoulder. _Nice._ Unfortunately, Zug ducked for cover because not only was he a liar but a _fucking pussy._

Time for the new Plan O, as in _oh, I didn’t know I had another plan but I guess I do now._

“Klammer, follow me,” Lance whispered before he began crawling along the makeshift barrel barrier. If he could get inside of the bar behind him, they could whip up some molotovs. That was the new plan. Molotovs in a city whose buildings were all made of extremely flammable wood and filled with alcohol.

Lance and Klammer made it around the back of the bar they had been camping in front of, and Lance easily jimmied the lock. There weren’t any patrons inside, probably because the front wall was riddled with bullet holes, but the liquor racks below the counter were fully intact.

They ducked behind the bar counter, and Klammer was at least smart enough to help Lance stuff rags into a few bottles. While they were at it, Lance emptied a bottle of whiskey over his shoulder and bit back a groan.

“You got shot again, Le?”

“Yeah, _estúpido,_ from when I dove in front of your high ass! Jesus Christ, why do I bother with you?”

Klammer looked like he was about to ask who Jesus was (and Lance had already struggled to explain that on at least five other occasions), but Lance slapped a hand over Klammer’s mouth before he could start. The gunfire outside had stopped. Zug must have noticed he was gone.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lance hissed, grabbing one of the molotovs and a striker out of the pocket of his trusty duster. He could’ve afforded a new one months ago, but this one had sentimental value. _Baby’s first crime,_ if you didn’t count trespassing on private government property and that one time Lance stole a box of tic-tacs from the corner store on a dare.

“Leandro, get yer sorry ass out here! Take it like a man,” Zug called out from somewhere in the street. Lance strained his ears and he could hear footsteps. Zug was trying to distract him while his men surrounded them.

Lance remained silent. His newest plan was to blow up the building while he and Klammer were in it. He’d always wanted to go down in flames.

Suddenly another spatter of gunfire was erupting in the street, except there weren’t any bullets tearing into the wooden counter Lance was crouching behind. Someone new had joined the party. Zug yelled in surprise, and then Lance knew exactly who the _someone_ was.

“If this doesn’t earn me that date, I don’t know what will!” Magie yelled over the sound of gunfire, and Lance was grinning ear to ear.

“It’s gonna take more than saving my life, Mags!” he replied, abandoning his hiding place to join the fray again.

Magie had brought some of her pals, and the tide of the battle quickly turned in Lance’s favor. Gun fights in real life weren’t anything like they were in the movies. They were fast, and messy, and bloody as hell. The important people didn’t last until the very end to make their final speeches and whatnot; they were the first to be taken out.

Zug’s dead body slumped over a barrel was a mighty fine example of that. Lance had taken out four men and was currently engaged in a fistfight with the fifth who had snuck up behind him. The purple alien got in a lucky knife swipe across Lance’s bicep, but Lance was never one to waste an opportunity, allowing the blade to sink in while he used his other arm to draw his own dagger and bury it in his opponent’s chest.

Magie yelled at him, something about the rest of the Zug’s men being holed up in the coffeehouse, but then Klammer was staggering back out of the bar with a lit molotov in his hand.

“Klammer, what the fuck? Throw it!” Lance yelled, torn between running for cover or to the aid of his friend. Klammer was wiping some vomit off the corner of his mouth, which hopefully meant he was finally coming down from his high. He didn’t really look like it, though.

 _Fuck it._ Lance ran at Klammer, tackling him and grabbing the molotov out of his hand. He turned and whipped it at the coffeehouse. It crashed through the window and then the entire establishment was bursting into flames, followed by horrible screaming. Magie jogged over to them and helped untangle the mess of limbs Lance was caught up in.

She yanked Lance up to his feet, and then he was staring into two amused brown eyes. Magie leaned forward, planting a soft kiss where Lance’s mouth would’ve been without the mask, and at that moment he was thankful for its presence because he was blushing furiously.

“C’mon, you guys. I know I could use a drink after that,” she said, holding out a hand to Klammer.

“Not a bad idea,” Klammer drawled, a pleased grin on his face as he trailed after Magie. Lance rolled his eyes. _What an idiot._

“Uh, guys? What about the burning building? Are we just gonna… We’re gonna leave it. Great.”

***

“You’re really going then?”

Lance had already said his goodbyes to Klammer and Molly and the remainder of Zug’s crew that he had taken over after said leader got what was coming to him. Lance was surprised by how sad Magie seemed about his departure, though. She had tearfully given him a necklace the day before, a leather cord with a gold medallion on it which was now resting on Lance’s neck. She said it represented the true self, the soul. Lance thought it was kind of ironic.

“You don’t even know who I am, Magie. I’m not Leandro.”

Magie probably already knew that. No one around here went by their real name, and Lance had never even bothered to come up with a last name. He kept his entire body covered at all times. She _knew_ that he wasn’t who he said he was. Lance could tell by the bitter sigh she released that… maybe she wanted more from him.

“Can you just… it’s been eight phoebs and you haven’t given me _anything._ I don’t care if your name isn’t Leandro! You need to let me get close enough to know you before you push me away. You can’t leave now, not after everything. _Por favor._ ”

The Spanish caught Lance off guard. He tried to remember the many drunken nights at Zug’s or Molly’s or the coffeehouse that they helped rebuild from the ground up, but they were all hazy with momentary bliss and underlying pain. When had he taught Magie how to speak Spanish? And why had the simple phrase brought tears to Lance’s eyes?

“Magie…”

Lance had no clue what to say to this woman. She had saved his life too many times to count. They had pulled off infamous jobs that they would go down in history for. They had gotten drunk with each other, cried over each other, patched each other up. But for all of the time they had spent together, Lance couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her.

Lance was going to leave her, and for what? Some notion that he had a greater purpose than _this?_ Some idiotic idea that he was meant to be elsewhere, saving the entire goddamned universe when he couldn’t do shit on one sparsely populated planet?

Magie bit her lip softly, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. She knew. She had to know. There was so much that would be left unsaid between them. But Magie must’ve understood, because she didn’t wait for him to voice an incomplete thought. She finally reached up to him, resting her green hand on his mask.

“Do I get to see your face, then? Before you go?”

 _God, why was she making this so hard?_ If Lance stopped to be honest with himself, he didn’t want to leave either. The Great Storm had passed a movement ago. Lance had been bumbling around with purchasing a vehicle and getting his affairs in order. He had enough food and water for the nine quintant drive back to Reifen, he had plenty of amo, fuel for the hover-bike, and as much as he hated it, a hell of a lot of Zip because he was kind of afraid to see what the world looked like with clear eyes again after all this time.

It was difficult to explain, but everything here was so simple. He didn’t have to worry about doing the right thing, he didn’t have to follow Shiro’s orders or disappoint Keith or annoy Allura. He was _good_ at this. He knew how to handle guns, where to hit which alien species to inflict the most damage, how to treat bullet wounds. Actually, maybe the problem was that it was too simple to explain.

Everything about Nagel and _Carmen IV_ in general made sense to Lance (though he would exclude the Ring, that was still pretty fucking awful). It was his life now. The thought of going back to Voltron, back to Red, scared him shitless.

What if he wasn’t a worthy paladin anymore? What if Red wouldn’t let him pilot her ever again? At first he could convince himself that what he was doing was necessary for survival, but then he knew it wasn’t, knew he had started enjoying the life of a mercenary, not having to care about anything except where the next paycheck came from. He didn’t stop taking contracts after he figured out Zug’s deal was a hoax. He hadn’t wanted to.

And the weight of that realization had resulted in him turning to drugs and alcohol to cope. He knew that none of the paladins would recognize him anymore. He was different, no longer so naive as to think he could get through a war without killing an opponent. And now he’d wasted an amount of time that Lance didn’t even _know_ shooting random people on a random planet that could quite possibly be in a different reality.

And this whole time, Voltron had been missing the Red Lion. And, _Dios,_ Lance hadn’t thought of her in so long, but Bo was probably dead. She probably starved to death in the desert following Lance’s final command to her, lost in the metallic storm. _Go to Red, my ass._

Lance felt disgusting. And he knew for a fact, even if him being a human weren’t a factor (which it was), that he never wanted Magie to know his face, to look at all of the terrible things he had done written plainly on it for all to see.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said before he mounted his long-distance hover-bike, and then he was leaving Nagel and Magie behind in a shower of silver dust that sparkled under the light of three distant stars, just like he’d left so many other things in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shit, she got real!
> 
> LOL Lance gets friends and then leaves them because he's got places to be, yo!
> 
> Oops whatever you do don’t put any of the city or character names into Google Translate oh no it's a mess…
> 
> So Lance is dressed in a silver bodysuit with a dark brown duster coat, a bandolier, shoulder holsters, a sniper rifle over his back, a blue bandana, a badass undercut and a really cool mask?!? I. AM. In love he is so cool I love him thanks.
> 
> Also I promise I did not kill of Bo we’ll find her again next chapter. Also also the exact amount of time Lance has spent on _Carmen_ will get cleared up next chapter (because Altean and Earth times aren't exactly the same so the time is a bit off now).


	9. We Only Live For A Little While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and new wounds.

As expected, the drive to Reifen took nine quintants. The journey was relatively uneventful. Lance encountered a few other vehicles in the open desert, but no one gave him any trouble. He passed the giant Ring stadium, giving it a wide berth, and even saw the looming metal cube that contained the cubicles about a couple vargas out from Reifen-proper.

Lance realized that during his initial escape from the Ring all of those phoebs ago, he’d followed a different river on the opposite side of where Red would’ve been. Meaning that to get back to her, he’d either have to go all the way around Reifen and add a couple of extra days to his journey, or he could cut through the town.

With his mask to hide his identity and his… experience, Lance felt pretty confident about getting through Reifen without incident. Maybe he could even stop by that bar and get some of that food he’d never actually gotten to eat before he was arrested by Soldat.

_Through Reifen it is._

Despite the relatively short length of his previous stay in the town, Lance recognized a few aliens that he had seen before, either at the Ring or the bar, and even a few that had come over from Nagel after the Great Storm cleared up. As Lance carefully maneuvered his hover-bike into an empty lot among several others, he nodded at Vene, who had mentioned something about looking for her brother before she left Nagel a few days earlier than Lance.

He slung his pack (which was now significantly lighter because it wasn’t burdened with nine quintants’ worth of food) onto his back before hopping off of his bike, straightening out his well-loved duster and patting around, checking for all of his weapons. His bayard was still in it's bracelet form, resting snugly on his wrist. Three hidden knives, his standard pair of pistols in his shoulder holsters, and an extra revolver tucked into a custom pocket at the small of his back. Lance had left his sniper rifle with Klammer, figuring he wouldn’t require its use after he left Nagel and his hitman ways behind.

Lance wondered if he’d ever get to see his friends again. _Carmen_ was in the technological dark ages -- they didn’t have any tech to get them off planet or even any tech to boost a signal beyond a couple-mile radius. Lance would’ve left them with a communicator from Red, if he could have. Going alone again after having Magie, Klammer, and Molly with him for so long felt even worse than when he had been alone in space. 

Lance made his way through the lively streets of Reifen, still wary of the many glass-beads he noticed on the street. Fortunately, he recognized the road he was on, so he knew that he only needed to make a few more turns before he would see the swinging doors to the bar that he had come to so long ago, starving and naive.

In his single minded focus on his destination, Lance nearly ran straight into a pink alien that had stepped into his path, and he supposed it was kind of poetic justice that he’d once again been stopped before eating the food whose smell brought back memories of a carefree stroll through the silver desert with a playful red wolf.

Lance was quite ready to shove the obstructive alien out of his way, but he looked up and recognized them.

Pink, feathery, large beak, slightly amused eyes. He had met this alien nearly eight months ago, asking for directions to the very bar they were standing in front of now. Lance didn’t think they had exchanged names, and besides, Lance was wearing a mask now. This alien shouldn’t know who he was.

“I was hoping you would come back,” the alien said in a voice that Lance vaguely remembered, melodious and haunting. “I have something of yours, Red Paladin.”

Lance snapped out of the daze he had fallen into at the sound of the alien’s voice. He hadn’t been addressed as a paladin of _any_ color since his participation in the Ring. He was about to draw his weapon, because _how the fuck had this alien figured out who he was?_

Before he could, a gentle pink hand came to rest on his clenched fist.

“I am unarmed. Please. I ask that you trust me. You must come back to my home where we can discuss matters in private.”

Lance searched the alien’s eyes, but he saw nothing but sincerity, maybe even some hopefulness. Lance had learned early on during his time on _Carmen IV_ that trusting anyone for any reason was not only foolish, but often resulted in bodily injury and new scars.

But a quick once over of the alien standing with their hands held up in a non-threatening manner confirmed that they weren’t armed, and Lance felt the strangest tug in his gut telling him to _trust_ this alien.

Lance had the upper hand here. He was safe, he would bet all of the coins in his bag that he could defeat this alien in one-on-one combat, and considering the fact that this alien could expose his identity to any of the glass-beads milling about the crowded Reifen roads, Lance decided to go with his gut.

He gave a quick nod to the feathered alien, gesturing for them to lead the way.

Lance took note of every main road they turned off of, every landmark and back alleyway, until they arrived at a row of buildings that looked like they were practically falling apart. Most of them were pretty badly scorched and boarded up. It was like this neighborhood had never recovered from the bombing, just like most of Nagel.

Lance followed the pink alien, who’s name he still didn’t know, into a shack that had seen better days and passed a curtain that was serving as the front door. As soon as he entered the threshold of the house, he was crashing to the floor with a giant mass of black and red crushing his body.

Lance’s immediate reaction for the second time in the short period since he had reentered Reifen was _violence,_ and his hand was already shooting for a blade when he felt a familiar wet snout nuzzle his palm and the giant animal started licking at Lance’s mask.

He shoved the creature back a bit, and when he got a better view, he almost broke into tears right there, on the floor of some random alien’s house.

“Bo! _¿Eres realmente tú?_ ” Slipping back into Spanish came very naturally to Lance, despite him not having intentionally spoken any for almost eight phoebs (but then he recalled that he had taught Magie some Spanish and he didn’t even remember, and that _hurt_ ).

Luckily, Lance had a wonderful distraction from everything he had lost when he had left Nagel, because now he had someone back that he had thought was _dead._ Saying Bo’s name again, seeing her alive and in his arms, seeing that she still recognized him and loved him… it felt like Lance was home again.

He’d spent longer away from the wolf than he had with her by his side, but now that she was here and miraculously alive and healthy (and _huge_ \-- she definitely looked like she had a couple of inches on Lance), he never wanted to leave her side ever again.

Lance didn’t even give a shit about the alien who’s eyes he could feel boring into him. He took off his mask and was immediately drowning in happy wolf slobber. When Bo finally settled down, rolling over for belly rubs, Lance returned her affection as if they hadn’t just spent three quarters of a year apart. Lance was amazed and humbled by how strong their bond had been. How strong their bond still _was._

He turned to the strange pink alien, who had at some point acquired two steaming mugs of… some stew that Molly had definitely cooked up a couple of times. There were only so many plants that grew in the deserts of _Carmen IV._

“Did you take care of Bo this whole time?” Lance asked incredulously, not really sure what to make of this mysterious alien even as he accepted the mug of soup. Bo had gained back all of her missing body mass from those difficult months in Red, just like Lance. He could feel powerful muscles rippling underneath her thick coat of fur.

“Yes. I found her in the desert a few days after your arrest. I brought her back here and cared for her.”

A million thoughts were running through Lance’s mind, which was going a mile a minute. _Why would this random alien save Bo? And lead Lance back to her? How did they know who Lance was? Who was the alien, anyways?_ Lance had never seen anyone else even vaguely resembling the same species.

Before Lance managed to string together a sentence, the alien spoke, as if they were reading Lance’s mind.

“Saving the wolf’s life was not an act of charity. There is something I require from you, Paladin, and time is of the essence so you must listen carefully. Who I am does not matter, but I have come from a planet called _Mana’Lo_ where a terrible enemy threatens to destroy everything that my brothers have worked for. If you are truly who I believe you to be, then it is your duty to help my planet.”

Lance’s hand instinctively reached towards the golden medallion Magie had given him. Eight months worth of guilt was already enough to convince Lance to help this alien. He was absolutely desperate to do something _good_ again, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it on this god-forsaken planet. Lance continued scratching Bo’s belly and nodded at the alien to continue.

“Take these coordinates,” the alien said as they shoved something so high tech it seemed out of place on the desert planet into Lance’s hands. “I would come with you, but… I am no longer welcome on my home planet.”

Lance wasn’t surprised. Most of the people on this planet who had gotten drunk enough to spill their backstories said as much. Everyone here was either an exile, criminal, or a former slave.

Lance set the empty mug of soup down. He would go to the coordinates, help the planet out, and maybe in the process he’d find a way to get back home. Lance was a firm believer in the theory that you didn’t have to be directly working towards your goal to achieve it. He had stumbled upon many things he hadn’t been looking for that turned out to be life changing.

Tripping into the shark tunnel at the aquarium when he got separated from the tour group (and yes, Lance would defend that incident until his dying breath because it was _fucking awesome_ ), going to Keith in the desert, towing Hunk and Pidge along with him, finding the fucking Blue Lion, catching Allura in his arms, learning to let go and accept his new position as the Red Paladin.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say much on the front of life changing events from his most recent exploits. Which mainly involved maiming, murdering in cold blood, swindling, and substance abuse. But if he left and helped out the people on _Mana’Lo,_ he could be _better_ than he was here.

Maybe he could fix whatever was broken inside of him before returning to his team. He wanted Voltron to recognize him. He wanted to be the person they used to see him as, even if that person was the goofball seventh-wheel. Lance would take that over an alcoholic mercenary.

Lance reaffixed his mask and made his way to the doorway of the alien’s shack, pushing the curtain aside so that he could see the sparkling silver desert and the river that would lead him back to Red, when the pink alien was speaking again.

“Paladin,” they called, and Lance turned. “Your vehicle, the lion ship. It was discovered after the storm lifted. There will be people out there.”

Lance wasn’t particularly worried. He could take out a couple of aliens. With Lance’s luck, they’d just be a couple of glass-beads. He nodded in thanks for the warning, and as an afterthought he tossed his hover-bike keys at the pink alien.

“This is for saving Bo. My bike’s parked on the other side of town. Electric blue, kind of hard to miss,” he added sheepishly. He still had his flare for the dramatic, at least. The alien looked at Lance in confusion, probably about to refuse the gift. “I won’t need it anymore. Bo can get me to Red, and then I’m leaving _Carmen_ for… well, hopefully forever. So take the bike.”

A nod from the pink alien, some weird gesture that involved a strange noise coming from the alien’s beak and what looked suspiciously like a military salute (and which Lance assumed had the same meaning), and then Lance was turning back around to face the desert without another word, this time with Bo by his side.

The two companions stopped briefly at a cluster of vendors who sold bulk food and travel supplies on the outskirts of Reifen where many long distance travellers likely passed on their way to other settlements that were a lot farther out than Nagel. A similar area had been set up on the outskirts of Nagel, too. Lance bought as many crates of food as he could pack onto the hover-trolley he had bought, ending up spending the last of his coins. At least he wouldn’t have a repeat of nearly starving to death like when he first came to _Carmen._

All that was left was returning to Red, who Lance feared might’ve been completely drained or something because not once had he ever been able to find her through their bond.

Lance and Bo walked along the river in contemplative silence. Lance’s pack weighed heavy on his back, three stars whose names Lance had never bothered to find out shined brightly down on him, and he fiddled nervously with Magie’s necklace as the hover-trolley floated on ahead of them.

He didn’t feel awkward with Bo at all, it was like they’d never been separated in the first place. Lance didn’t really have anything he wanted to dwell on, so he started singing softly in Spanish, feeling kind of sorry for himself.

_“Y tengo que dejarte ir, poniendo el mar entre los dos._

_Pagando el precio de otros que viven de la._

_Contradicción._

_Otra familia que quedó marcada por la separación._

_Como luchar, con ese sol con la política y con Dios.”_

***

A few hours later, Lance and Bo could see the looming figure of the Red Lion on the horizon, and Lance could also make out a couple dozen Anbauen, their green skin standing out against the silver sands. Glass-beads, en mass. He looked over to Bo, whose ears were perked up. She had noticed, too.

Lance quietly set down his pack on top of the hover-trolley, which would continue floating towards their destination at a snail’s pace even without them trailing behind it.

He could do this. Just a few more kills, and then he would be free. (Later, it would occur to him that killing his enemies wasn’t the only option. That he had, for two years, managed to fight a war without directly killing a single Galra.)

“ _Ataca,_ " Lance murmured as he grabbed Bo’s red fur, and then they were standing in the midst of a group of very confused glass-beads. The bloodbath began.

Lance drew a pistol in each hand, taking out two of the nearest aliens with lazy chest shots while he assessed the battle field (he had gotten reckless in his time on _Carmen_ \-- he never counted opponents beforehand or even checked their weapons before jumping into the fray). He counted 15 glass-beads, now 14 since Bo had just mauled another one.

Typically, glass-beads were equipped with clubs or knives, sometimes a stray gun. Speaking of, Lance dove out of the way of a coordinated spray of bullets. One had definitely clipped his thigh, but he ignored the sting and barreled into a glass-bead who was brandishing her knife wildly, yanking his own blade out of his sleeve and plunging it into the alien’s eye socket as he sat atop her body.

Lance rolled again, dodging more bullets that ended up riddling the body of the alien that Lance had just killed. A pair of glass-beads with clubs came at him next. He blocked one swing with a forearm and immediately regretted it. The hit had been more powerful than he expected, and he felt the bone in his arm breaking ( _it's probably just a fracture_ ).

Distracted, Lance took a hit from the other alien right in the ribs, and a searing pain exploded across his stomach. He doubled over, taking the opportunity to grab the two knives at his ankles, and came back up, slashing at the aliens’ throats. They went down, fountains of black blood gushing from their necks.

Lance counted the battlefield again. 7 glass-beads left. And Red, who’s particle barrier had come down at some point. Her body was now as silver as the desert, whether from caked-on dust or from her paint being scraped off during the Storm Lance couldn’t tell. She was in the same position Lance had left her, standing stoically. Silent and unhelpful.

Lance grabbed his pistols and shot down three more aliens before they realized that Lance was still alive and kicking, not yet down for the count. Two more clubs were coming at him, and this time Lance retreated, unwilling to take another bone-shattering hit.

He had three bullets left in his right pistol and four in his left, and he was about to make use of them when he felt the first wave of a familiar fear washing over his body. Like salty seawater lapping at the beach.

Then he saw something fast darting towards him in his peripheral vision. Lance whipped around, only to find a machete coming down on his _face._

There was a sickening crunch, then the two halves of Lance’s mask were falling off of his head. Lance could feel the sting of the blade as it was yanked back off of his face, the burning pain. A large, fiercely bleeding cut crossed his eyebrow, barely shallow enough to not have taken Lance’s eye out, continuing in a long and ragged line down his right cheek. Whoever had done the deed dragged the blade down his face, leaving a stinging trail down Lance’s neck that ended at the collar of his suit.

Lance staggered, blinded by the blood, and then a boot was hitting him square in the chest and he was tumbling to the ground.

“I knew you’d come back, ya fuggin _human._ Done knew it in my bones, and now I c’n finish what shoulda been done in the Ring!”

Lance registered through the pain that this was _Krieg,_ the alien that had arrested him so long ago, the leader of the glass-beads. _Why does he remember me?_

He must have slurred his question out loud, because Krieg laughed bitterly, giving Lance a kick to his aching ribs.

“How could I have forgotten havin’ a bonafide Paladin o’ Voltron pay my little town a visit? Didja really think I’d let ya just up ‘n leave?”

Krieg grinned down at him cruelly, but Lance was nearly paralyzed. He couldn’t feel anything except sheer terror. The lapping water had turned into tidal waves violently crashing into craggy cliffs.

He couldn’t see through the veil of blood that was covering his face. Krieg was still talking, Lance could at least tell that much. But he was so scared and he couldn’t move, and he was feeling this vague sense of _deja vu._ His body was in immense pain, his head was pounding, and he felt like he was drowning in an unforgiving viscous fluid.

Luckily for him, two things happened in the next two ticks that saved his life. First, the hover-trolley finally arrived, bumping right into Krieg who was in its path. Krieg stumbled, tripping over Lance’s body, and then the second thing happened. Bo teleported on top of the sheriff, ripping him apart limb from limb, seemingly having finished off any other opponents on the battlefield.

There was so much noise, screaming and squelching and a couple of stray gunshots. Lance blearily registered that a bullet had hit him in the collarbone, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about it.

He blindly scraped bloody fingers around in silver dirt, latching onto the cloven halves of the mask that symbolized who he had become on _Carmen._ Leandro’s mask.

In those next few moments of silence, Lance had been certain that he had died. He knew what it felt like. His raging mind quieted down, and Lance felt cold and tingly all over. He hoped someone would get Red back to where she belonged. He hoped Bo would be okay. He missed Magie. And Klammer. And Molly. And Allura, Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, Coran. Keith motherfucking Kogane. _I’m dying, and I want to see Keith._

The thought was somehow startling enough to wake Lance up. He cracked his eyes open and was met with the snuffling snout of Bo, who was whining, almost crying. And Lance couldn’t have that, this wolf was his best friend, she shouldn’t be sad. He reached up to card a hand through thick fur and mumbled what was probably a bunch of nonsense in Spanish.

Then everything started to smell funny, and there was a flash of red. Lance blinked, and the three stars of _Carmen IV_ were replaced with the familiar ceiling of Red’s cockpit. Lance didn’t have the energy to do anything, and in his exhausted state he felt the strange sensation of someone trying to get into his mind, like knocking on a door.

He was tired and delirious and still not entirely sure if he was alive, so he allowed the door to swing wide open. Immediately, _Red_ was there, a voice Lance hadn’t heard in almost as long as he hadn’t seen Bo. The ship was shuddering and rumbling, and then they were taking off.

Bo nuzzled Lance’s face again, coming away with blood on her nose, and Lance thought it looked wrong. Red was trying to apologize, sending him reassurances and waves of sadness and regret.

It didn’t feel good. Lance gave up the ghost and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lance is singing: Habana Blues
> 
>  _Y tengo que dejarte ir, poniendo el mar entre los dos_ (And I have to let you go, putting the sea between the two)  
>  _Pagando el precio de otros que viven de la_ (Paying the price of others who live on the)  
>  _Contradicción_ (Contradiction)  
>  _Otra familia que quedó marcada por la separación_ (Another family that was marked by the separation)  
>  _Como luchar, con ese sol con la política y con dios_ (How to fight, with that sun with politics and with God)
> 
> So you know how Kosmo and Keith worked together to fight that druid (like Kosmo teleported and Keith attacked), and how Kosmo generally doesn’t actually attack anybody (like when he just goes around scaring the Galra in ships instead of like, actually murdering them). So, Bo and Lance have a very different dynamic. They fight side by side. Lance trusts Bo to defend herself, and does the best he can to watch out for her while fighting enemies. It’s quick, dirty, and effective. They’re super awesome change my mind.
> 
> In other news, we finally got back to the weird emotional breakdown dealio Lance had in Chapter 1! And hopefully you remember everything happened in like… Chapter 6? LOL there is too much plot here I think I’m the only person who can keep track of this bullshit.
> 
> To soothe aching minds, allow me to assure you that, yes, it is all related to the dick cannon and Haggar being a bitch. Of course.
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**


	10. Waiting to Blow Our Brains Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new planet and a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: this chapter has a LOT of exposition and dialogue. But now you hopefully get a better idea of what the fuck is happening because as much as all of the random details I’ve been planting throughout the story make sense in my head, I’m not sure how coherent the plot actually looks to someone who isn’t me. There are a ton of easter eggs for this reveal in early chapters, though. Very exciting.

At first, Lance thought he had been captured or something. In Nagel, he had been no stranger to being abducted and tortured for information about one of his employers or a job he had pulled. His first warning to his kidnappers was always _don’t remove the mask._

That little spark turned into a roaring flame that encompassed all of Nagel. It was whispered about in the streets and behind Lance’s back. _Nobody who saw what was beneath Leandro’s mask lived to tell the tale._

Right now, he couldn’t move his limbs and he couldn’t open his eyes. _Blindfolded and tied up._ Except that Lance remembered leaving Nagel behind. He remembered getting back to Reifen and finding Bo with that pink alien, and--

Lance’s arms weren’t restrained, he was just incredibly sore. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t open his eyes and he was starting to panic. He tentatively brought his hands to his face, feeling something hard and crusty. He remembered the fight, Krieg, _Red._

His eyes had been sealed shut with dried blood.

Lance rubbed at them, wincing when he accidentally touched the giant gash on his face. When he was finally able to crack his eyes open, he saw that Bo was fast asleep, curled up by his side, and Red’s dashboard was blinking.

Lance stumbled to his feet, trying to avoid waking Bo up, and went to see what was wrong with his lion. A few of her parts were missing, probably stolen by the glass-beads. They weren’t essentials, but it looked like the crystals that powered his weapons systems were gone and rear thrusters were pretty badly damaged.

Lance checked back on that old spreadsheet he had made with the food rations. When he first got blasted to hell, it had been October the 23rd. Red’s clock told him that today was the 24th of October. He had been gone for just over a year. Yesterday, when he had been lying paralyzed on the ground next to Red, it had been the one year anniversary of his having been shot by the dick cannon.

A quick glance at the star map showed that Red was simply hovering above _Carmen IV,_ like she didn’t know where to go. Nobody on the planet that Lance had met had technology beyond hover-vehicles. They couldn’t get off the planet, so he was safe.

Lance remembered the pink alien who had saved Bo and reached into his pocket, fishing around for the strange device they had given him. He pulled it out and looked around the console, looking for a hole he could stick it in. There was a buzz to his left, and Lance looked over to see a scanner had popped out, near the camera that projected his image to his team.

He waved the stick in front of it and then it blinked green. A few ticks later, the map on the dashboard refreshed with labels and a route to _Mana’Lo,_ only a couple of movements away. Red was eerily silent, and Lance was about to try to seek her out when he felt a familiar pang in his head.

And then Lance was panicking _again_ because he’d never moved the trolley into Red! They didn’t have any food or water. They didn’t have any Zip, which Lance desperately wanted a dose of _right the fuck now._ He looked wildly around the cockpit, finding nothing, and then he went to the cargo hold on the verge of tears, not sure what he was expecting to find.

Lance forgot that he had turned off gravity and temperature regulation in there and was immediately left floating in the freezing room. But he saw the trolley with his pack floating nearby (maybe Bo had teleported it onboard before getting Lance), so he kicked off of the doorway and grabbed the pack, ignoring his tear tracks as they froze onto his cheeks.

He got back to the cockpit, slamming his hand (big mistake, he’d forgotten that he broke it in that last battle) onto the button to close the cargo hold. He landed on his feet, quickly dropping the pack and digging through it, yanking out a packet of Zip.

It was frozen solid, but Lance didn’t care. He slurped greedily at the frozen drug, feeling his body relax as it started to kick in. He sighed, almost falling asleep again, before his throbbing wrist reminded him that he should probably patch himself up.

At least he was no stranger to this. This meaning patching himself up while high as a kite. He felt serenely calm as he stripped out of his clothing and assessed his injuries. His leg had been clipped by a bullet, he had at least two broken ribs (but no pierced lungs), a fractured left wrist, a bullet lodged in his fucking _collarbone_ of all places, and the horrible gash across his face and neck, courtesy of Krieg.

Lance had lost a fuck-ton of blood. He could tell because his hands were ghostly white as they applied Altean ointment to his various injuries. Lance bit his lip as he fished the bullet out of his chest with his fingers, nearly yanking his hand back out when he felt shards of his collarbone, but soldiered on. He put a splint on his wrist, dressed his leg, and wrapped his entire face and neck in bandages, leaving holes for his eyes. The cut on his face definitely needed stitches, but Lance didn’t have the right supplies. He probably looked like a mummy.

Bo woke up a short while later, and Lance found that the wolf had been slashed by blades in a few places during the fight. He cleaned up her wounds and bandaged them up so she couldn’t lick the ointment off. Lance went back to the dashboard, turning gravity and temperature control back on in the cargo bay so he could grab some food from one of the nine crates he had bought.

According to the map on Red’s dash, the journey to _Mana’Lo_ was only two movements, so they likely had more than enough food. Lance wanted to do an inventory again, though, just in case.

While he and Bo enjoyed vacuum packed goop (apparently nutritional goop was a continuity across all realities) that tasted marginally more sweet than the Altean goo had, Lance tallied up all of their supplies.

He had to type it up himself, though, because Red was still completely silent, though Lance could feel her presence in the very back of his mind. He decided to let her have her space. They had two weeks to sort whatever it was out.

Each food crate had 15 food packs and 15 water packs, which meant he had 134 food packets left now. And all 135 water packets, though he should probably drink some water now. It was more than enough for him and Bo to eat freely. Meanwhile, he was down to 5 packets of Altean ointment, he still had the two oxygen canisters, the spare helmet, his old Paladin armor and flight suit, the blanket, 17 doses of Zip (Lance usually got by on one dose a week), a couple of bottles of whiskey (Molly had insisted), his broken mask, the weird alien data stick, the ship repair kit, Keith’s old sketchbook, plus his guns and knives and 185 bullets.

Lance glanced down at his bayard, which was still a bangle on his wrist. Besides the poker game with Zug, he hadn’t taken it off the entire time he’d been on _Carmen IV,_ no matter how dire the situation had been. He’d nearly died from his hubris.

Though, Lance supposed it wasn’t quite hubris. If he’d used his bayard while doing what he had done for months, it would’ve tainted the image of Voltron he had been struggling to preserve in his head. The idea that he could leave everything behind and be a paladin again once the Great Storm was over. That as soon as he left the planet, reunited with Red and wielded his bayard, he would be worthy again. Like being cleansed of all of his sins.

Lance left the bayard on his wrist.

***

Two movements passed by relatively uneventfully.

Lance used up the last of the ointment on Bo’s injuries (neglecting his own, which resulted in a nasty infection setting in on the open wound on his face), spent a lot of time bonding with the wolf again, and spent even more time trying to forget about _Carmen IV._

Lance spoke to Bo in Spanish, but not about the silver planet they had left behind. Not about Voltron and not about his family. He made up stories about things that had never happened, things that _couldn’t_ ever happen. Stories where he and Bo stayed together and travelled the universe together. Where they were happy, and they didn’t have any scars or anybody to leave behind. Because Lance seemed to leave everybody behind, no matter where he went or what he did.

Red never tried to speak to Lance again after she apologized to him when he first boarded her, and Lance wondered if she realized what he had done and was mad at him. Maybe as soon as he got her back to Voltron, she would force him out and take a new paladin. Keith would be back from the Blade to take his place, and they could all move on.

Lance ended up using the ship repair kit to fix up his mask. It now had a streak of black sealant (the orange goo turned black when it hardened -- Lance hadn’t noticed that before) holding the two pieces together. The streak mirrored the gash on his face (that wasn’t healing because as Lance had suspected, it needed stitches), but with the mask on, Lance felt a bit safer. _Force of habit._

And so Lance passed the weeks, hanging around with Bo and moping when she was asleep. Lance’s face wasn’t healing at all, but he ignored it. His shattered collarbone was probably starting to set incorrectly and breathing was difficult with his ribs.

The pain made the days bleed into each other, and the few stars that Red passed on her way to their destination didn’t help Lance feel like time was passing at a normal pace. Despite what it felt like, it wasn’t long before they arrived at _Mana’Lo._

Unlike _Carmen IV,_ this planet actually had some infrastructure going on. They at least had technology that was advanced enough to send out a hailing frequency, which Lance answered after slipping on his sloppily repaired mask.

A feathery pink alien appeared on the dashboard. It looked remarkably similar to the one Mana’Lo-an he had already met.

“Please state your name, ship classification, and purpose.” The voice had the same hypnotic quality that the other alien’s had had. _Must be a thing with this species._

“I’m Leandro. I pilot the Red Lion of Voltron, and I was told to come here by a Mana’Lo-an on _Carmen IV._ They said that you required assistance in facing an enemy.”

Lance wasn’t surprised that he had immediately identified himself as Leandro. He _was_ wearing the mask, after all. There was silence on the other line as the pink alien leaned over to consult someone off screen. Then they were back.

“Greetings, Red Paladin. You are welcome on _Mana’Lo._ Please land at the coordinates I have sent you."

The call cut off as Red’s dash pinged, and then he was slowly descending into the blue planet’s atmosphere. In fact, _Mana’Lo_ looked strikingly like Earth, except the colors were inverted. There were several more of the bird-like aliens, except these ones were orange and green, directing Lance with neon batons. He landed his lion (not very gracefully, since he didn’t have rear thrusters) in the open patch of grass beside a giant palace.

The data readout he pulled up showed him that the atmosphere was fine to breathe (though a little low on oxygen), but the water would be acidic for him. Lance donned his silver suit and duster, loaded his pistols, tucked in his knives, and checked his mask to make sure it was secure. Then he and Bo teleported onto the surface of _Mana’Lo._

They were immediately greeted by a green alien who gave Bo a strange look before turning to Lance. For his part, Lance was struggling to stay standing. He was bone tired and hadn’t realized how poorly he’d been recovering (well, he had realized, but a mixture of guilt and pride stopped him from doing anything about it). He felt light-headed from a lack of blood and before he could say anything to the alien in front of him, keeled over and collided with the teal grass.

He vaguely registered Bo’s worried whining, someone calling for medical attention, and then the scenery of _Mana’Lo_ was rushing by (trees that almost looked like maple trees but had blue leaves, the grass under his feet making a _crunching_ sound, the giant palace that he was being carried towards while Bo followed that looked extremely high tech).

The guard had to scan one of their eyes and speak into a small microphone before the palace doors slid into the ground, revealing a neon wonderland inside, but the flashing and pulsing lights weren’t doing Lance’s headache any favors so he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

***

He must have passed out, because he woke up to find his mask missing. Actually, he was completely naked, his scarred body covered only by a thin sheet. At least he was alone, lying in a stark white room on a clean bed. There was an IV hooked into his arm and a beeping monitor nearby displaying data that Lance couldn’t parse. A pile of clothes that weren’t Lance’s was on the table by his bed.

A quick check revealed Bo curled up on a blanket beside his bed. Lance breathed out harshly. He didn’t know what he would do if they ever got separated again. Next on the agenda was checking out his injuries. He wasn’t wrapped in any bandages anymore.

Lance gently flexed his wrist and found that it was fine. He poked his collarbone. Somehow, it was fully healed. The stab wounds and bullet holes were all gone, the only evidence of them ever having been on Lance’s body was stark white scar-tissue. It was almost as if he had been in an Altean pod.

Lance gingerly rolled out of the bed, wrapping himself in the sheet that had been covering him and padding over to the door, wheeling his IV stand along with him. He just wanted to see his reflection in the window.

His face was healed, the infection cleared up. Now, he just had a ragged line that split his right eyebrow, broke at his eye, then continued down his cheek and neck. It was extremely noticeable against the tan of Lance’s skin.

As Lance blinked back at the reflection of a man he barely knew, the face of a deep red Mana’Lo-an appeared in the window and startled him. He tripped backwards, going for a weapon, but realizing he was unarmed he dove for cover behind the bed. The alien entered the room and held up their hands placatingly.

“I mean you no harm, Paladin. I’m a doctor. My name is Ham’Ah,” the alien said in a soothing voice, and Lance registered Bo coming over to where he was crouching, nuzzling his shaky legs.

“Right. Uh. Sorry. I mean… thanks? Thank you,” Lance muttered as he stood up, and the doctor chuckled.

“You gave us quite the scare, Leandro. Your injuries were pretty… extensive. You were in one of our healing chambers for 18 vargas.”

Lance assumed that was a long time by Mana’Lo-an standards, judging by the look on Ham’Ah’s face. It certainly was by Altean standards.

“I’m pleased to say that you will make a full recovery as long as you get plenty of Vitamin C and eat iron-rich foods,” the doctor continued, walking fully into the room and typing some things on the beeping machine by Lance’s bed. Lance wondered how she knew that humans required iron and Vitamin C in order to recover blood, but the doctor beat him to the punch.

“You are by no means the first human I have tended to, Paladin,” she tittered, still clicking away on the monitor. “But don’t worry, you’re still a very unique specimen. My colleagues and I have been analyzing the blood sample we took from you at the lab. Unless it’s normal for human blood to share so many properties with quintessence in your reality, I’d say we’re in for a treat.”

To Lance’s knowledge, that was definitely not normal. How could his blood be acting like quintessence? _What did that even mean?_

“That’s a mystery for another time, though. The queen wished to speak to you as soon as you were awake. Get changed and follow me,” she said brightly. Lance was about to ask about where his things were, but the alien once again spoke before he actually asked a question out loud. _How was she doing that?_

“Your belongings have been moved to your quarters. Someone will probably take you there after your discussion with the queen,” she said with a kind smile on her beak, before she was pushing through the door to give Lance some privacy.

Lance quickly changed into the tight black shirt, belted cargo pants, and combat boots that had been left for him. All of the clothing fit his frame (which was pretty well muscled now -- Lance was proud that he’d finally managed to fill out), so Lance whistled at Bo who had become distracted with a weird potted orange plant in the corner and they left the hospital room together.

Ham’Ah led them through several white hallways that were probably all part of the hospital. They passed several more people dressed in the light grey lab coat that Ham’Ah was wearing, and even some people dressed in the same outfit that Lance was wearing. The people dressed in Lance’s clothes were all being tended to.

They eventually got out of the hospital area and turned down a few more nondescript, dimly lit halls, before they emerged in a large, open room.

The support pillars in the main reception hall glowed with a pulsing green light and Mana’Lo-ans of all colors ran about, some dressed in fancy suits that Lance assumed was the royal livery, glowing with different buttons and monitors and scanners. The carpeted walkway Lance and Bo were being led down ended at an imposing dais where an ochre yellow Mana’Lo-an sat, discussing something with a sky blue Mana’Lo-an to her left.

Ham’Ah cleared her throat before leaning over in a deep bow (and if Lance didn’t know better, it looked like the bow was in jest).

“Presenting the Red Paladin of Voltron, Leandro, to her majesty the queen.”

The aliens that had previously been bustling about turned to stare, and the queen quickly waved away the advisor she had been speaking with, glancing over to Lance in interest. The queen apparently elected to ignore Ham’Ah’s theatrics.

“You are not the Red Paladin I have met before, are you, Leandro?”

Her voice seemed to have even more of an effect on Lance than any of the other Mana’Lo-ans, and Lance found that he was suddenly very drowsy. He gave her a dopey smile and was about to let loose his worst pickup line when Bo nudged his hand. He’d apparently been swaying on his feet, staring with heart eyes for a bit longer than he had thought. Luckily, the queen turned towards Bo in interest.

“You have quite a remarkable companion there. I have heard tales of the cosmic wolves, but never have I laid eyes on such a magnificent creature. It is said that only one exists in each reality.”

Lance was at least coherent enough to realize the queen had just mentioned realities. _Maybe she knows how to get me back to mine! She seems to know I’m not associated with whatever version of Voltron exists here,_ he reasoned. Lance was gearing up to ask a lot of questions, but the queen spoke first. For some reason, that seemed to happen a lot with these Mana’Lo-ans.

“I can indeed tell that this reality is not your own, young Paladin. I also know this reality has not been easy on you, for it was my own brother that you encountered on _Carmen IV._ There is much we must discuss, in _private._ ”

After the queen said this, the gathered crowd of Mana’Lo-ans quickly fled from the throne room, and the four doors that led into the room slid shut with a hiss, leaving Lance, Bo, and the mysterious queen alone.

“I suppose some introductions are in order. I am Vana’Lu, ruling matriarch of _Mana’Lo._ You should be aware that I know your true name, Paladin, but as a show of respect I will refer to you with the name you have given.

Lance still hadn’t said a single word in this queen’s presence, but he was dying to ask some questions. Her voice was making it difficult for him to get his head on straight, though, and each word Vana’Lu spoke was making it a bit more muddled.

“There are some things you may wish to know about Mana’Lo-ans. Each of us is born with some measure of telepathic abilities, which is why my brother knew to put his trust in you. It is also the reason some of us may answer your questions before you have said them out loud. Each individual has a varying degree of telepathic power,” she said, sounding almost bored, as if she had said those very words thousands of times before.

“Additionally, what you are feeling right now is a common effect of our speech on more… primitive species. I have sent for someone to get you earplugs so that we may speak while you are of a clearer mind.”

Lance nodded gratefully as the door to his right slid back open and a short orange Mana’Lo-an scuttled in, offering Lance two earpieces that reminded Lance of those outdated personal speakers he had found in the time capsule he'd dug up on the beach -- AirPods. Lance stuffed them in his ears, and suddenly the fog lifted from his brain.

“Thank you, Queen Vana’Lu. I’m grateful for your hospitality,” Lance said, imitating the deep bow he had seen Ham’Ah do when addressing the queen.

“Please, Leandro. There is no need for that. We are equals here,” she said with a kind smile, and Lance straightened up with a sheepish grin that he wasn’t used to wearing on his face. It had been a long time since he had made a public appearance without his mask. “You are very lucky, given your circumstances.”

Lance raised a scarred eyebrow in question, and the queen continued.

“I know that the journey to _Carmen IV_ was almost a fatal one for you, but even still I would say you were lucky. You are currently in the only star system in this entire universe, as far as our exploration units have been able to tell.”

 _Whoa._ If Lance had been any further out than where he had been when he first got shot by the dick cannon… he would have _died_ out there. The possibility seemed too close to reality for comfort.

“Now, we must discuss the reason I have asked you here. My brother, traitor though he may be, trusted _you,_ and that is a very high honor. You may not be aware of this yet, but you certainly will be in time. _Mana’Lo_ is fighting a war with Earth.

Lance felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. _Earth existed in this star cluster?_ The aliens on _Carmen_ had seen humans before. They had Earth things, had Earth names. It kind of made sense.

“Earth, as in… my home planet? _Earth,_ Earth?”

“Yes, though you’ll likely find that it differs from the Earth of your reality. The planet you spent so much time on, _Carmen IV_? It was an early result of terraforming experiments conducted by humans. The Earth Empire originally only had qualms with the Galra, but after that enemy was eliminated, they wanted to expand and conquer more planets. There are only so many in this sector of space, and the three terraformed planets that preceded _Carmen IV_ all failed,” Vana’Lu said with a frown.

“If _Carmen IV_ succeeded, why didn’t I see any humans there?” 

“ _IV_ itself was abandoned by humans after a successful uprising of the enslaved Anbauen peoples,” she replied evenly. “As you are aware, my planet is suitable for human living and rich in resources. _Mana’Lo_ has been at war with Earth for deca-phoebs, and though our technology is advanced, we have fewer soldiers. That is why we require your assistance. This war is at a turning point, and we need you to finally bring it to an end.”

Lance wanted to help, he really did. It felt almost like destiny, that after everything that had happened, he ended up in a place where he could do good. A year ago, he would’ve immediately come to this woman’s aid. She was beautiful, well spoken, and royalty. She checked all of past Lance’s boxes -- he’s sure he would’ve been all over her. But now Lance couldn’t fathom blind trust. He needed solid proof before he could enter a war against his own planet.

“I hope I’m not out of line for asking your majesty, but I need something concrete before I pick sides in a galactic war,” Lance said, maintaining eye contact with Vana’Lu and mentally bracing himself for a violent reaction from the queen. Lance had always been the best diplomat out of all of the paladins, but he was on a new planet by himself with no mission briefing beforehand. Luckily, Mana’Lo-ans seemed to have many similar customs to those of Earth (and even Altea).

“Of course, this is not a surprising request,” Vana’Lu replied evenly with a sweet smile, one that seemed to hide something under it. It was like she knew something tht she didn’t want to tell Lance. She turned towards the door before Lance could get a read on her. “Ga’Ha! Take Leandro to the Rose Room for an information briefing with Kur’In. I’ll speak to you again soon, Paladin.”

The guard that Vana’Lu had called for immediately entered the room through the side door, giving a deep bow and gesturing for Lance to follow them. So he did.

***

Kur’In turned out to be a neon orange Mana’Lo-an who held himself with almost as much poise as Allura, and certainly with as much as Queen Vana’Lu. He wore an outfit similar to Lance’s, though he also had on a jacket decorated with many patches and ribbons, likely from his many accomplishments as the highest ranking military officer on _Mana’Lo._

Lance wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed in the Rose Room (named not for the presence of any Earth flora, but for the tinted red glass panels that lined the entire east wall), but the only sun of _Mana’Lo_ had set a while ago, leaving Lance slightly distracted by the fact that he was back on a planet with day and night cycles. The room was large, with a big monitor on another wall and a long meeting table that currently only had two chairs at it, both occupied.

Ga’Ha, guard that had brought Lance down several minutes-worth of halls to the part of the palace that was full of meeting rooms (besides the Rose Room, Lance passed Robin and Ruby Rooms, which appeared to be in use for mission debriefings and staff briefings respectively), ended up serving Lance and Kur’In a meal, which Lance found curious. _If this planet has so much technology, wouldn’t they have robots to do that, or at the very least a designated servant rather than a guard?_

Luckily for Lance, Kur’In quickly answered all of his questions about the planet, sometimes annoyingly before Lance had actually said anything.

“Every citizen on _Mana’Lo_ has received military training. Some citizens choose not to fight or are not eligible, and those are the ones you see staffing these grounds. Ja’Lu Palace, where we are, is the center of all life on this planet. There is a large metropolis, which we refer to as Mana’Lo because it is the only city on the planet’s surface, east of Ja’Lu. The military barracks, training grounds, and hangars are all to the west.”

“If the planet is so large and rich in resources, why have you only settled in this one area?”

“We are a religious people. The forests are considered sacred, so we cannot clear any more land for settlements. Mining, however, has proved to be a very beneficial practice. We’ve used the ti’ka ore to build every structure you have seen in this Palace. It’s a very strong and versatile material. Strands of it are even sewn into the clothes you are wearing, and the our mining efforts have produced an extensive tunnel system below the planet’s surface where…”

Bo had settled down at Lance’s feet, curling up and falling asleep after scarfing down the meal Ga’Ha had provided her with. Lance was watching as she tried to run in her sleep, a puddle of drool forming on the pristine floor (that was probably made out of that ti’ka ore stuff).

Kur’In went on about Mana’Lo-an culture and military structure, but Lance was kind of zoning out. Which Kur’In probably knew because he could _fucking read minds,_ but he kept droning on and on and Lance just tried to politely listen.

Eventually, after another varga of one-sided discussion (the only useful information Lance gained from that was that days lasted 18 vargas on _Mana’Lo_ and there was a popular underground bar a couple of miles away), Kur’In finally moved on to a topic that had Lance’s drooping eyelids snapping up again.

“So, the Twelve Deca-Phoebs War. That’s the war _Mana’Lo_ is currently engaged in with the Earth Empire. Their initial attack was unexpected, a surprise invasion that cost us many lives,” Kur’In said as he tapped at his wrist and the giant monitor to Lance’s right lit up with images.

Kur’In flipped through them hurriedly, but Lance had seen enough to want to barf. There were piles of dead Mana’Lo-ans, killed by lasers, bullets, and explosives. Some human bodies in _Galaxy Garrison uniforms_ were mixed in with the carnage. Lance wondered if this was what the Garrison of his reality would do next after they had finished exploring.

“Some of the brave soldiers that fought in that battle were never found. Our intelligence suggests that some Mana’Lo-ans were abducted by order of the Black Paladin.”

Whoever the Black Paladin of this reality was, maybe Shiro or Keith, had really gone off the deep end. Lance still remembered the organ harvesting ship he and Bo had attacked so long ago, the fear associated with Voltron. Sometimes hatred. _Voltron must be allied with Earth in this reality._

“Voltron was indeed part of that battle,” Kur’In said, and then he looked at Lance curiously. “Do you know something else, Paladin?”

Maybe Mana’Lo-an telepathy wasn’t directly reading people’s minds, but more emotionally based. Kur’In didn’t know exactly what Lance was thinking all of the time, and that brought Lance some relief.

“I might,” Lance said carefully, watching the alien’s face. “On the outskirts of the star system, I encountered a ship made of Galra and Earth ship scraps. The aliens on board were harvesting organs.”

A sad look flashed across Kur’In’s face, the first open display of emotion Lance had seen from the orange alien.

“Organ harvesting, animal trafficking, enslavement… these are all known activities of the Earth Empire. The organ harvesting is a new development. In fact, that ship you encountered was likely one of the first ones involved. The Black Paladin used to be more reasonable, but he has been more unpredictable as of late. Our spies have yet to discern why Voltron would need the organs that they are collecting.”

Lance’s face twisted up in disgust. Even if Mana’Lo-ans didn’t have telepathic abilities, Kur’In would have no trouble telling how Lance felt about the issue. Lance wasn’t in his reality. In this one, Earth was evil. So he wanted to help. He wanted to forget about _Carmen IV_ and the people waiting for him back home. He was in this reality now, and he knew he could help. Well, he _would’ve_ been able to help…

“Kur’In, my ship is damaged. My weapons systems and rear-thrusters aren’t functional. I don’t know how much help I could be to your war effort.”

Kur’In looked at Lance for a couple of seconds, brown eyes twinkling, and then his beak abruptly opened as the orange alien started laughing at Lance. It took him a moment to calm down, and Lance just stared at the military officer in confusion and slight offence.

“Sorry, Paladin. Sorry. I just-- Have you seen this place? You were in the Ja’Lu throne room. I’m aware of the recovery you made in our healing chambers, and I’ve told you about ti’ka ore. You haven’t even seen our hangars yet! We’ve been fighting a war against Earth for twelve deca-phoebs, Leandro. Our military is nothing to scoff at,” he said, shaking his head. “And even if that weren’t the case, we have encountered Voltron lions before. We can get yours up and running, even improved, if that’s alright with you.”

Lance stared at Kur’In in amazement. Of course he’d seen all of the technology around. It was strangely reminiscent of the Castle Ship. He just hadn’t expected anything like this. Maybe it had been too long since he’d been in a situation where he was allied with someone who had resources and who wanted to _help_ him, even if it was just so that Lance could help them in return.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you could fix up Red,” Lance said, and then he decided to ask for a bit more because _fuck it._ “If you’ve seen a Lion before, then you know about the psychic bond, right? My bond with Red seems kind of messed up. I don’t know if that’s something you can fix?”

Kur’In didn’t hesitate before responding.

“Of course. Ja’Lu Palace is home to the best minds in all of _Mana’Lo._ If it’s alright with you, I believe it’s getting pretty late. I’ll take you to your quarters for tonight, and tomorrow someone can show you around the barracks and hangars.”

Lance nodded, and then Ga’Ha was opening the door for them and Lance was silently following the two Mana’Lo-ans, Bo taking up the position of rear guard. They snaked through more hallways and popped out into a courtyard where Lance could finally get a clear look at the _Mana’Lo_ night sky. It was his first night sky in a very long time (if he didn’t count floating endlessly through space), and the sight of twinkling stars caught Lance off guard, causing emotions to stir in his gut.

Lance glanced over at Bo for a moment and felt a wave of joy wash over him as he saw the pinpricks of light reflecting in her purple eyes. He would get through this alive for her, and then they could go back home. Lance felt kind of broken sometimes, but he knew he could always fight for this wolf.

Eventually, they entered a building behind the palace that was apparently the designated living quarters for all palace staff and off-duty soldiers. It was huge. Kur’In took his leave, and Ga’Ha showed Lance the baths and his room, leaving him with a key and instructions to call if he needed anything.

Then Lance was finally alone with Bo. All of the social interaction had been pretty draining. _Not so much the social interaction,_ he supposed, _but the honesty and diplomacy._ This was very different from his time on _Carmen IV,_ where he had to swear like a sailor and pull out a gun any time he wanted attention and respect.

Lance kicked off his boots and pulled out the earpieces that had been jammed in his ears all afternoon, shuffling further into the room and spotting his clothes, mask, and his pack. He rifled through the bag, pulling out some Zip, and after he felt the artificial calmness wash over his body, he finally settled down on the small bed in the corner of the room.

His living quarters were pretty small, just a bed, a tiny window on the same wall, and a desk in the other corner with what Lance assumed was a phone sitting on it. He would have to use the public restroom if he wanted to bathe.

Bo curled up at the foot of the bed on top of Lance’s legs, and the sound of her even breathing eventually allowed Lance to sleep as well.

***

Lance woke up to the distant sounds of military drills. The stern voices of drill instructors that penetrated the air stirred up repressed memories of Lance’s time at the Garrison. He pushed all thoughts of Iverson, failed exams, and an alternate reality where he’d probably ended up being a cargo pilot out of his mind. Instead, he rolled out of Bed, causing Bo to groan. _She’s gotten lazy._ Lance put the earpieces back in and put his mask on before opening the door, intending to go to the bathroom.

What he hadn’t been expecting was for the doctor from yesterday, Ham’Ah, to be outside of his room, red hand raised as if she was about to knock on the door.

“Oh, Leandro! Good morning. I wanted to catch you before you got roped into drills. It’s about the blood tests we were running?”

Lance had forgotten about what Ham’Ah said about his blood. Something about quintessence? Ham’Ah continued before he had to ask.

“What we found were traces of dark magic, the kind Galra druids used to work with. The energy matched older samples we had from when the Galra weren’t, well, extinct. Anyways, it would be really helpful if you explained how you ended up in this reality,” she finished, looking at Lance hopefully. She kind of reminded him of Pidge.

“Well, you’re right about the druids. About a year ago, I was shot by a cannon while I was piloting the Red Lion. I guess I passed out, and then I woke up in a different reality.” As an afterthought, Lance added on another detail he’d just remembered. “And I got some cuts from it, even though I think I was only shot by energy.”

Ham’Ah had been nodding along, taking notes on a tablet she had whipped out from nowhere ( _definitely getting Pidge vibes_ ), but she looked up quizzically at the mention of injury.

“My data from your physical shows that you received several scars from around a year ago including lacerations on your chest and back, several stab wounds and bullet wounds, and... a bite on your shoulder. Can I assume the thin cuts on your chest and back were the ones you got from the cannon blast?”

Lance nodded, and Ham’Ah wrote a few things down before looking back up at Lance, who had been standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time we’ve seen inter-reality travel,” she said _way_ too casually, and Lance’s heart almost stopped right then and there. Lance himself had gone to an alternate reality before, but that was through a portal. _If other people have done it, is there a way for me to get back to my reality?_ Lance had often told himself he could get back home, that that was what he was fighting for, but he had known in the back of his mind that travelling through realities was a tall order.

“Leandro, are you with me?” Ham’Ah asked, waving a hand in front of his eyes and snapping him out of his spiralling thoughts. “The energy traces in your blood sample should act kind of like coordinates. They’ll tell me where you came from. And if I can knick a bit of the trans-reality comet that your lion is made of, I know some people who could probably get you back home. How does that sound?”

Lance breathed out. He breathed in. It sounded fucking _awesome._

Ham’Ah smirked at Lance. _Stupid telepathic aliens._

“Well, if that’s a yes on the comet we’ll get to work right away. Just a warning though, Paladin,” she said, a remorseful expression flitting across her face briefly. “There’s no telling how long this will take. It’s never been done before, we’re pioneering new technology, etcetera etcetera. But the science division will be on this, and I swear to you we will do our best to get you home.”

“Ham’Ah, thank you. That’s honestly more than I could ever ask of you. Anything you do for me will be-- I’m just… thank you.” This alien barely knew Lance and she was already promising something like that? Lance had always been surprised by any kindness offered to him by strangers, but after his experiences on _Carmen IV,_ something like this seemed _huge._

“Ah, don’t get soft on me now, Paladin! You’ve got a war to fight,” she said, patting him on the back good naturedly and scampering off, probably to retrieve a sample of the trans-reality comet.

***

After Lance washed up, he got Bo up and the two of them went back across the courtyard to the palace, where they wandered around until a guard helped them get some food and directed them to the training grounds.

On the way, they passed lines of jogging Mana’Lo-ans dressed in the same outfit that Lance had been given when he had woken up in the hospital. He stopped another alien, asking where he was supposed to go, and the officer pointed him to a red tent at the far end of the grounds.

Lance weaved around other tents and groups of sparring Mana’Lo-ans until he arrived, and he was about to head in when he heard snippets of a conversation.

“But the prophecy says--”

“You know full well that Vana’Lu’s prophecies aren’t always accurate, Tureg,” another voice interrupted, and Lance was pretty sure it was Kur’In. “Besides, even if she had literally meant for--”

“Someone’s here.”

Lance froze, wondering if he should teleport away with Bo, but he figured he was already caught and decided to just head in.

“Uh, hi. Sorry if I’m interrupting something?” he said, unsure what this situation called for.

“Not at all, Paladin,” Kur’In replied with an easy smile. “This is Tureg,” he said, gesturing to the pink Mana’Lo-an beside him. “He’s going to do a quick assessment of your abilities so we can decide which company we’ll put you with. With your background, I’m assuming you’re well versed in flying and ground combat?”

Lance simply nodded, so Kur’In waved Tureg away. The pink alien stood, did the same military salute (accompanied with a strange squawk) that the Mana’Lo-an Lance had met at _Carmen IV_ did, and then they were leaving the red tent and heading to an empty dirt square with a table beside it, lined with weapons. Bo settled down in a patch of teal grass, keeping an eye on Lance as he followed Tureg.

“Alright, Paladin,” he began, but Lance piped up, saying that Leandro was fine. “Leandro. We’re going to spar with a few different weapons and do some combat simulations. I have no doubts that you’ll end up in Alpha Squadron with me, but this is just customary for new recruits. If you haven’t noticed yet, Mana’Lo-ans take their traditions very seriously,” he said, winking as he grabbed two staffs and tossed one to Lance.

“Square up, soldier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Lance knowing his worth! He doesn’t question whether he is able to help _Mana’Lo,_ because he knows that he is perfectly qualified to do so. His main concern is that he’s on the right side of the conflict. What a mature guy, so grown up…
> 
> Also apologies for my shitty worldbuilding. Basically, Mana'Lo-ans are super advanced technology wise (on par with Altea -- they have healing pods, a huge database full of information, and super advanced weaponry and fighterships that'll show up next chapter) but still all believe in like this one religion that won't let them cut down their forests to explain why there aren't more cities LOL. And the palace? You better believe that shit is huge. Hopefully you can imagine all of the stuff in your mind's eye, because I had to draw a physical map for myself.
> 
> Are the Mana'Lo-ans really cool, or secretly hiding something? What's this mysterious prophecy? Lance, you better get on that shit.
> 
> Ok next up we’re going to see another montage-y chapter where Lance fights in the war. So angst is a given. Oops, but really where's the surprise?


	11. Look Me In The Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Developments and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I already did a snapshots chapter for Lance’s life on _Carmen IV,_ I decided this time around I’d take a ‘day in the life’ approach to give this fic some more variety. So here is one giant linear narrative with no breaks whoo
> 
> I didn't actually say specifically in the chapter how long Lance had been on _Mana'Lo_ in an effort to flub up the timeline some more (because of science and magic and stuff that will be explained maybe in chapter 13). Sorry, that makes no sense right now. But it's been like, a few months and he's been on a few missions and the aliens have made progress fixing Red.

“Leandro, you have two hostiles moving in from the north,” Tureg’s voice said, fizzling into Lance’s ear.

“Copy that, team leader.”

Lance looked through the scope of his Mana’Lo-an sniper rifle, immediately spotting the two people in question. Humans in classic grey and orange Galaxy Garrison uniforms. One had a rifle strapped to his back and the other had some kind of portable gatling gun that they were trying to set up. Charlie Squadron was picking their way across no man’s land, skirting the edges of the decimated city of Vormosa, located on _Carmen VII._

In the mission briefing, Kur’In had told Lance and his company that this target was particularly important for the war effort -- Vormosa was a huge hub for alien trafficking and where Earth was manufacturing lots of explosives.

Charlie Squadron had already been sent in a movement ago for intelligence gathering, but they’d gotten into a sticky situation and needed an out. Alpha Squadron’s job was to get Charlie out of the hotspot with minimum casualties. While _Mana’Lo_ had been looking to disrupt Earth’s supply train, they hadn’t intended to jump into a full-scale battle now. Kur’In had stressed that they really wanted to avoid attracting Voltron’s attention.

Earth had already sent in several troops when they suspected something was up, and the situation was pretty delicate. It was only Lance’s fourth mission, but he had a pretty good feel for his new team. Tureg was the leader, and he usually stayed in the sniper’s nest to keep tabs on the rest of the squad. Lance quickly proved himself as the superior sniper, ousting Ja’Ni from the position (though she was fairly good tempered about it and had said she’d been waiting for an excuse to be the team tank). Vin and El’Ren were the close-combat specialists, eliminating specific targets with ease, and Lam’Orn was the demolitions expert and a pretty decent pilot.

Mana’Lo-an fighting tactics were a bit different from what Lance had been used to with Voltron or even on _Carmen IV,_ but he was a quick study.

Typically, they liked to attack fortified positions, inflicting structural damage and flushing out enemies for the snipers and combatants to take out. Obviously, since there were a bunch of civilians and volatile materials within the city, they couldn’t go with that strategy, not to downplay the fact that _Mana’Lo_ really wanted to avoid a battle on _Carmen VII_ anyways.

Unfortunately, while trying to retrieve members of Charlie Squadron, El’Ren had been spotted. She had taken cover in one of the factories, and several humans had pursued her. Lance was supposed to have taken them out before they entered the building, but he got distracted by Charlie making a move. The rest was history, _literally._

The humans that had followed El’Ren ended up shooting around, accidentally setting off the half-produced explosives in the building and leveling the entire city block. The team had lost contact with El’Ren, and then Charlie Squadron was moving out, apparently unharmed and taking the explosion as the opportunity they needed.

Technically, Alpha was supposed to have met up with Charlie, but Mana’Lo-ans were also notoriously relaxed about following exact mission plans from what Lance had experienced. So now he was in the nest alone to spot Charlie Squadron, Bo had taken Tureg to help Vin look for El’Ren in the rubble, and Ja’Ni and Lam’Orn were on the other side of the town evacuating the aliens they had liberated.

With the leveled city block, Lance figured that Alpha Squadron didn’t quite accomplish the minimum casualties part of the mission, but as long as he could get Charlie Squadron out of here in one piece, they’d at least be able to call the operation a success.

So he sucked in three breaths, in and out. In and out. _In and out._ Then he squeezed his trigger twice, the neon pink lasers cutting across the sky and striking both men between the eyes.

The first time Lance had killed a human being, he had found that it was scarily similar to killing all of the random alien species that he used to off for his food and board in Nagel. Just a couple more nameless, faceless bodies that weighed heavily on his soul.

It was really more of the same, to him. The reason behind the killing didn’t matter so much. Whether it was so he could survive in the hellish desert of _Carmen IV_ or so he could help the Mana’Lo-ans fight against the corrupt Earth Empire, a body was still a body. He found he didn't really care about the justification anymore, it was just something that happened. Death. _That’s pretty fucking morbid._

He really hated thinking about it. On _Carmen,_ he’d drank and gotten high to escape his encroaching thoughts. But Mana’Lo-an alcohol was a lot weaker than what Lance was used to, and he had blown through Molly’s whiskey in a movement. He had two packets of Zip left, but as soon as Lance got back to Ja’Lu Palace, he’d be down to one.

None of that mattered now, though. He had a job to do. The coms had been quiet for a while, which Lance had also found was a peculiar part of Mana’Lo-an military procedure. He figured it had something to do with their telepathic abilities, that they could mostly communicate silently, but that usually left Lance out of the loop.

“Ja’Ni, what’s happening with those slaves?”

A few seconds of silence, and then Ja’Ni’s voice was crackling in Lance’s ear.

“We’ve got them loaded up into the transport. Lam’Orn’s ready to take off, and I was going to circle back around to you,” she said, huffing as if she was already on the move.

“Negative, Ja’Ni. Stay with Lam’Orn and man the gunning attachment. City’s too hot,” Tureg grunted out, and Lance thought he could hear gunshots over the com.

“Hey, do you need my help in there? Charlie’s crossed into the extraction zone, they’re good to go,” Lance said as he scanned the area again with his sniper scope.

“Me and Vin are fine out here. Bo’s saved our hides a couple of times already,” he said, and Lance grinned under his mask. _That’s my girl._ Lance heard more gunshots over the coms, probably from Vin and Tureg, and then he heard a sentence that he wasn't all that surprised by. “We’ve got the body. El’Ren is gone,” Tureg murmured. There was a moment of silence over the coms as the news sunk in.

Even as the newest edition to the team, Lance had been able to tell that Alpha Squadron had been working together for a long time. The first three missions had gone incredibly smoothly, and after a few nights with the squad at the bar, Lance had quickly learned all of the inside jokes and become a full fledged member of Alpha Squadron.

Vin had been the closest to El’Ren, as they were usually partnered up, but Lance knew the rest of the team would take the loss hard too. He felt kind of bad, not because of any guilt he might have felt (over the death that was undoubtedly Lance's fault), but because he had already known El’Ren’s fate when the first shockwaves of the explosion rippled through Vormosa. _A body’s still a body._

“Roger, team leader. We’re taking off,” Lam’Orn said softly, and Lance could indeed see the giant transport class ship taking off with an entire city’s worth of slaves (or at least a city’s worth minus the hundreds that likely died in the explosion).

“Charlie Squadron is heading home, too,” Lance said, turning back to his sniper scope to see the smaller stealth vessel leaving the ground. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Since Charlie’s vehicle had still been intact, that meant Lance, Tureg, and Vin would be leaving _Carmen VII_ in the same ship they’d arrived in.

Despite the obvious wealth of tech on _Mana’Lo,_ none of the squadrons had contact with each other during missions, no matter what. The idea was so that if any units were captured, they wouldn’t have information that could lead to the capture of other squads, but Lance personally thought it was more outdated Mana’Lo-an rubbish. Their military organization could really use a revamp, but he wasn’t here to be a homewrecker. He was here to be a soldier.

“Meet back at the drop zone,” Tureg said. Lance could still hear gunshots going off.

He gave the affirmative and the coms went silent again. Lance began packing up his equipment. The sniper rifle was made of several parts that had to be broken down, something that Lance had to practice since he’d only used his bayard and the shitty antique on _Carmen_ before, neither of which required manual packing up.

As he was collapsing the scope, a scraping noise registered in his ear, one that he realized he had already heard a few times, and he whipped around to find another human with two guns trained right at his face. Humans usually traveled in pairs, so Lance bet there was another one somewhere around the corner. He held up his hands, swearing under his breath.

“You’re not Mana’Lo-an,” the man said. It was the first time he’d heard another human speak in this reality, the voices of the paladins screaming his name so long ago a distant memory. The speaker had a similar complexion to Lance’s, and the slight accent told Lance he might even be speaking to a fellow Cuban.

“ _¿Aseré, ¿qué bolá?_ ”

The man’s eyes widened. He definitely understood what Lance had said. Unfortunately, his words hadn’t had the desired effect.

“Take that fucking mask off, man! Are you some kind of traitor? A turncoat, huh?” The man didn’t seem to like the idea of a human who wasn’t loyal to Earth and started waving his guns around menacingly.

“Look, just--” Lance tried, but the Earth soldier interrupted him.

“Shut the fuck up! Yo, Persia, get in here! I’ve got a human who was sniping for the Mana’Lo-ans!”

Lance heard some shuffling around in the stairwell, and then a yell, which had the Cuban man turning around, distracted. Lance took the opportunity to surge to his feet, knocking one gun out of the man’s hand and connecting a fist with his temple.

Lance’s opponent wheeled backwards, firing wildly with his gun. Lance neatly sidestepped the sloppy barrage and grabbed a knife from his sleeve as Bo emerged from the stairwell with human blood dripping from her muzzle, presumably that of Persia. She was followed by a very stern looking Tureg, who Lance ignored in favor of flicking his knife into the Cuban’s chest.

Lance nodded at his superior as he made his way over to the bleeding human he was trying really hard to think of as just another body. This man could’ve danced in Havana, swam at Varadero Beach, seen the waves and the stars. He was Lance’s age, too.

As he leaned over to retrieve his knife from the body, the man released a wet cough and gripped Lance’s arm.

“ _¿Quién eres?_ ”

“Leandro, we need to go. More Earth troops are going to be swarming this location in two doboshes.”

Lance decidedly looked away as he brought a boot down on the human’s neck, ending his life. He felt things stirring up in his gut. He ignored them.

Lance knew from experience that Tureg would chew him out for letting this guy get the jump on him (and for getting El’Ren _fucking killed_ ). He’d get stony silence for the entire trip back to _Mana’Lo_ and the debrief with Kur’In, and then he’d get an explosion at some point after dinner. Even though this was only his fourth mission, he’d still fucked up often enough in simulations to know the routine by now.

Lance and Tureg grabbed onto Bo’s fur, and then a few jumps later they were in the cockpit behind Vin, who was quietly stepping aside from the controls to let Lance pilot. He knew El’Ren’s body was in the cargo hold, probably already in a cryopod. As he brought the ship into the air, leaving the ruins of Vormosa and the bodies of enemies and innocents behind, Lance found the silence of his teammates over the coms and in the cockpit to be deafening.

He couldn’t imagine how amplified Mana’Lo-an emotions must be when you could feel other people’s on top of your own. Lance wondered if they could ever just turn it off. He glanced back and made brief eye contact with Tureg. _I’m sorry._

Tureg looked away.

Lance just focused on piloting the ship, unwilling to break the thick silence. A few vargas later, and they were close enough to secure a radio connection with _Mana'Lo._

Charlie Squadron had gotten back in perfect health, as had Ja’Ni and Lam’Orn. Lance brought their ship down in the hangar and was the last to step off of the ramp. Tureg was immediately heading off to meet with Kur’In without a word, and Vin was wheeling the cryopod with their dead teammate away. In fifteen doboshes, the rest of Alpha Squadron would meet up in Kur’In’s tent for a debriefing.

Lance crossed the training grounds and headed towards the barracks, where he had moved as soon as he was officially an active member of the Mana’Lo-an military. His new room was even smaller than the one that he had at Ja’Lu Palace, but he couldn’t complain as long as he had a place to sleep.

His original plan had been to get high, but he decided Bo deserved a bath and he’d be better off clear-headed for a debrief, anyways. As he changed course, veering towards the community showers, he ran into a navy blue alien that he vaguely recognized.

“Paladin, welcome back! We’ve made progress with the Red Lion, but she has been rather… temperamental. Would you mind coming with me?”

 _So this was one of the scientists working on repairing Red._ Lance had been coming by every once in a while to check on her, but apparently finishing repairs had been the least of their problems. It turned out that integrating ti’ka ore into her design was a difficult and time-consuming process. Apparently Mana'Lo-an technology was not very easy to integrate with Altean tech. So far, they’d gotten Red's weapons back and she was flying, plus she had a new coat of deep red paint (that Lance thought looked _awesome_ ).

Lance had talked to several Mana’Lo-ans about his bond with Red, and the general consensus had been that once she was fully functional again, Lance should just try bonding with her again, like how Shiro had bonded with Black.

One scientist had asked Lance a lot of questions that he hadn’t really understood the point of, but afterwards the theory she presented actually made some sense. She thought that maybe Lance’s messed up bond had to do with the fact that there were currently two Red Lions in this reality. It would explain why Red’s power core never recovered beyond being half-charged. Theoretically, the other Red Lion was also flying around at half power.

Until all of that was sorted out, Lance would continue serving with Alpha Squadron. As soon as Red was fully functional though, Kur’In had told him that he would be leading a fleet of Mana’Lo-an cruisers and fighters. They would head the charge against Voltron. Lance couldn't decide if he was looking forward to that or dreading it.

Lance and Bo followed the navy alien into the cluster of tents that they had set up around Red. As they walked, the scientist chattered about the progress they had made.

“So we figured out how to fully charge the power core using the element Faunatonium. The Red Lion is at full power now, but she’s put up her particle barrier and we can’t finish installing the upgrades we’ve been working on. We’ve got improved ti’ka circuitry which should increase the ship’s response time to your commands, and we’re calibrating some of your communications systems to get a larger range. Theoretically, we should also be able to increase thruster output by 200%. But in order to do any of that, you’re going to have to get the lion to open up again,” he said, gesturing around wildly as he described the upgrades.

Lance followed the scientist past the last barracks, and then he was emerging on the other side of the temporary repair tents. Sure enough, his lion was standing there in all of her freshly-painted glory, particle barrier fully encircling her. Lance could feel her presence pulsing in the back of his mind, but once again he couldn’t pinpoint her consciousness.

Lance broke off from the scientist and made his way up to the lion. He placed one hand on the particle barrier while his other fisted at Bo’s fur (the touch was grounding for both of them) and began whispering to Red.

“Hey, Red. It’s been a while, ay, _muchacha?_ I’m sorry if I did something wrong, or if I’m not worthy… uh…” Lance trailed off, staring at his unresponsive lion. This was harder than he had anticipated. Bo huffed and nuzzled his hand, so Lance tried again. “If you want me to get you back to the other lions, you’re going to need to open up, buddy. Look, I know I fucked up real bad, but--”

Suddenly Red’s eyes were glowing and her particle barrier came down as Lance was violently scooped up into her gaping maw. He yelped in surprise as he was left laying on the ground of Red’s cockpit and the scientists outside were yelling at the commotion, but then Bo was inside with a _poof_ and Lance could finally _feel_ Red again.

She was apologetic, like the last time Lance had actually connected with her.

“Aw, you don’t have to be sorry Red, you’re still my best girl,” he murmured, overwhelmed by the amount of emotion Red was pushing through their bond. It had been so long since he’d felt this. Lance hadn’t realized how much he missed his lion. “Was it what I did? Was it what happened on _Carmen?_ ”

He felt a strong negative from the lion, followed by regret. Red was definitely upset about something.

“If it wasn’t me, what is it, _hermana?_ You need to tell me so I can help,” he said, closing his eyes to fully connect with his lion.

Red sent a jumble of images and emotions which Lance tried his best to parse. Voltron. Anger. Fear. The Red Lion, but not as she was now. The one from this reality. The Black Lion, painted a complete inky black, none of the white and blue details that he remembered.

And then Lance saw himself, wearing a full set of black armor. He had no mask, and his face was completely unmarred. And the black bayard, which Lance had seen wielded by Zarkon, Shiro, Lotor, and Keith, was clenched in his gloved hand.

Lance’s eyes snapped open in shock. _Red has a connection to the Voltron from this reality._ That meant they had a connection to him. They’d known he was here this whole time. _And I’m the Black Paladin in this reality._ The organ trafficking, the enslavement, this whole goddamn war! _Fuck._

“Red, why didn’t you tell me before? _Dios,_ what the _fuck_ is going on, girl?”

He felt more abstract and tangled ideas assaulting his mind, but he patiently waited for them to sort themselves out. Red was trying to protect him. The Voltron from this reality was strong. He could feel the fear pouring off of his lion in waves.

“It’s okay, Red. We can defeat Voltron in this reality, end this war. We’ll be heroes, you know? Parades and ladies?” Lance said, not even convincing himself. That wasn’t what he wanted anymore. All he wanted was to end this war so he could go home, and he wanted Bo and Red to stay with him. “Just, _por favor,_ Red. Don’t shut me out again. Let’s do this together.”

This time, Red’s thoughts came through loud and clear.

Determination. Hope. _Love._

Lance got up from the floor, patting the dash as he let those feelings wash over him. He hadn’t felt those emotions on his own in so long, but he couldn’t help but feel his heart expanding as he lowered the ramp, saying a silent goodbye to his lion for now.

He didn't know what to make of the new information. It was a lot to process, but really it made a lot of sense. At the Ring, he'd been called the Black Paladin. He should've connected the dots sooner. Lance hadn't decided yet if he thought the Black Paladin's identity and activities in this reality reflected himself or not. He was still Lance. _He'd_ never extracted any organs from unwilling participants, and he doubted he would do anything like that in the future. Like most difficult topics, Lance really just didn't want to think about it anymore.

The Mana’Lo-an sun was low in the sky, and as he emerged from Red he found a crowd of aliens had gathered, some wiping tears from their eyes. Sometimes Lance despised the fact that he was on a planet full of telepaths.

“Show’s over, nerds. Red’ll let you do what you gotta do,” he called, which set off a flurry of motion, and then he was leaving with Bo by his side, an ever-comforting presence. Lance had definitely missed the debriefing, and he would prefer not to have to sit in a room with only Kur’In and Tureg (especially considering how badly he had fucked up in Vormosa), so he elected to head to the mess hall for now. He could type up a report for their commander tomorrow.

It turned out the mess hall had been a bad idea, because as soon as Lance had set a bowl of chow down for Bo and settled down in a quiet corner with his tray of fried caterpillars (surprisingly tasty), Tureg was sliding onto the bench beside him. Lance really couldn’t catch a break today. He took off his mask to eat.

Luckily, the Alpha Squadron leader just brooded in silence beside Lance, allowing him time to finish his meal in peace. It wasn’t really a surprise that Tureg was grabbing Lance by the collar and hauling him off to the training grounds as soon as he swallowed his last bite.

“ _¡Junta mi máscara y vuelve a la habitación!_ ” he called back to Bo, who dutifully grabbed Lance’s discarded mask in her mouth and teleported away with a _poof._ Lance knew he was in for it and wanted to spare the wolf seeing him get his ass handed to him again.

They finally got to an open sparring ring and Tureg grabbed two battlestaves. When Lance reached for his own pair, Tureg stopped him, so he sighed, squaring up for a spar. When Tureg was mad, the fights were usually quick and dirty.

It was no secret to Alpha Squadron that Lance could hold his own in hand-to-hand combat despite his lack of any real training in the area, but ever since he had joined up they'd been busy enough that he couldn't get much more practice in. His lack of actual training meant that he couldn’t hold a candle to Vin or El’Ren. Ja’Ni and Lam’Orn were both marginally better than him as well. And then there was Tureg.

The pink alien came running at Lance, expertly weaving around Lance’s defenses and assaulting him with the battlestaves. They were made of ti’ka ore, like everything else on the planet, and they packed a big punch.

Lance tried to recover from a hit he’d taken to the stomach, stepping back and warily circling his opponent. Tureg allowed Lance a moment to catch his breath. _He’s going easy on me._

The next time Tureg made a move, Lance was more prepared. He managed to wrestle away one of the battlestaves, landing a solid kick to Tureg’s shin, and they traded hits for a few moments until Lance accidentally allowed Tureg to retreat and gain the upper hand. Lance swung at air, then found the other battlestaff flying at his face. He barely dodged it before he was tackled to the ground, the heavy Mana’Lo-an pinning him to the dirt.

“What happened out there, Leandro?” his superior said in a voice that was too composed for all of the energy their spar had just been charged with. It was times like these that Lance wished he had telepathy, too. Tureg was a difficult man to read.

“You already know what happened. Do you want to hear me say it out loud? That I got distracted and got El’Ren fucking killed?”

Lance was kind of livid. He was still pinned under Tureg, who was glaring at him and clearly invading his thoughts, and Lance _really_ just wanted to go back to his room, do some Zip, and sleep today the fuck off.

“If you’re not going to say anything, then get the fuck off of me,” he growled, trying again to shove the larger alien off of him.

“I’m not talking about El’Ren. We both know you’ll shoulder that guilt whether it really was your fault or not. I’m talking about the humans that got up to the nest. What was that?” Tureg’s tone had softened, and Lance realized he had misread the situation. Tureg was worried, and he was just really shitty at expressing it.

“I killed him, didn’t I?” Lance ground out, starting to squirm under him, but the Mana’Lo-an’s grip only tightened.

“Sure you did, Leandro. You nearly got yourself killed, too!”

“So I need some more close combat training? Then train me up, team leader! What’s this really about, man?” Lance grumbled, feeling his cheeks heating up as a familiar embarrassment reared its ugly head. He’d been fine at fighting on _Carmen IV,_ but now he was surrounded by trained telepathic soldiers all of the time, not petty criminals. It was like he was the weak link of Voltron all over again.

“What’s this?”

Lance looked at Tureg, confused, but then he realized the man was staring down at Lance’s chest. He followed his gaze and saw that the golden medallion Magie had given him had come out from where it had been safely resting under his shirt.

Lance finally wrestled himself free of Tureg’s grip, sitting up and tucking the necklace back into his collar. He didn’t know why he felt so exposed right now, but he definitely didn’t want to have this kind of conversation with Tureg.

“It was a gift,” he muttered, avoiding the alien’s eyes.

Tureg must have been able to tell something from whichever of Lance’s thoughts and emotions he was picking up, because he backed off, standing up and holding out a hand to Lance to hoist him off the ground. They stood before each other, each assessing. Searching for something.

“I knew a woman once, the former leader of Alpha Squadron,” Tureg said suddenly, still looking into Lance's eyes. “Her name was Var’Relle, and I thought that was going to be it. I thought we would fight this war and then we’d settle down in a new world where we could raise children and laugh freely. I wanted that so badly... But she died. It was during the first invasion of the Earth Empire, on my watch.”

Lance didn’t really know what to do with this openness from Tureg. Was he trying to comfort Lance about El’Ren, show him that he had had a similar experience? Lance wondered if the rest of Alpha Squadron knew, and then he felt stupid because _of course they did._ They were all telepathic aliens, after all.

“Why is there no name for the first invasion?” Lance asked, deciding not to try to pry further into the other man’s past. He wasn't comfortable with the amount of emotion he saw in his eyes. There was a pregnant moment of silence. Lance thought Tureg might’ve been disappointed that he had gone this direction with the conversation. Maybe the Mana’Lo-an really _had_ wanted to talk about emotions and guilt.

“Because it was never supposed to happen. The invasion wasn’t foretold,” Tureg said, and now his eyes were clearer as he stared hard at Lance. “You’ve seen that Mana’Lo-ans take tradition very seriously. Part of that tradition is the appointment of the queen. Vana’Lu is the most powerful telepath of this generation. Supposedly when a queen dies, the power that allows her to see into the future is passed on to a next Mana’Lo-an queen.”

Lance remembered the snippet of discussion he had heard a few months ago outside of Kur’In’s tent. Vana’Lu had been mentioned, and so had something else.

“What about the prophecy?”

Silence again. Tureg sighed, taking a moment to pick up the discarded battlestaves and return them to the weapons table. He motioned for Lance to walk beside him, and they began walking back towards the barracks. By now the sun had set, and a chill had descended upon the mostly empty training grounds.

“There are many prophecies, Leandro. The lack of warning before the Earth invasion was unprecedented. The ruling queen at the time, Aman’Lu, died during the that battle. Vana’Nir took the name Vana’Lu as Aman’Lu’s successor and soon decreed many prophecies about the oncoming war. She said it would last twelve deca-phoebs, hence the name. This is the year it's supposed to come to an end…” Tureg trailed off, looking at Lance warily. They were almost at the barracks now.

“She said we would be saved by the Paladin of Red, one who came from beyond the stars.”

_Okay._

Lance took a few deep breaths, maintaining a calm facade for the Mana'Lo-an who was _still_ staring at him. He could deal with this. Apparently he was the prophesied savior of all of _Mana’Lo._ And he was meant to end a war that had been raging for twelve years. And he knew that he was the Black Paladin in this reality and that whatever version of himself that existed here had done some fucked up shit for seemingly no reason. Tureg piped up again, probably sensing that Lance was spiraling.

“Look, don’t think too much about it. I shouldn’t have said anything, the queen isn’t always right,” he said, but Lance was still silent. “If you want to be around, we’re going to be recruiting tomorrow morning at 0600, and Alpha Squadron is running drills at 0800. Kur’In needs a mission report for the Vormosa operation, too. But get some rest. You fought well today.”

Lance stood stock still as Tureg headed off to his own room. His reality was collapsing around him. _I was so wrong about this being okay._ How could this have been prophesized? What had really been Lance’s own decisions? The Mana’Lo-an on _Carmen IV_ had told him to come here. He’d killed to survive in Nagel. He’d fought for his life in the Ring. Before that, he had floated endlessly through space, and had found Bo. He had been shot by the dick cannon in a different reality.

 _Was any of that real?_ Had his entire life in a different universe been leading to him saving a planet in a new reality? Fighting his own planet? _Why does everyone I trust keep dropping bombs like this on me?_

Lance hightailed it to his room, bursting in and startling a sleeping Bo who definitely needed a bath at this point. He went to the small trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out a packet of Zip, which he’d been needing all day.

He laid back on the small bed, carding his fingers through Bo’s clumped fur. He closed his eyes, trying to allow the Zip to kick in. He didn’t want to think about any of this. Red was almost ready to fly. Ham’Ah and her scientist friends were working on a solution to get Lance home. He was doing what he did best, fighting an evil empire. It was just humans instead of the Galra. Lance knew where he was and why. He knew his purpose.

A few moments later and Lance was clawing at the necklace he had been wearing ever since his departure from Nagel. He yanked it off and stared at his reflection in the gold charm, and despite the drugs coursing through his veins he felt hot tears trailing down his face.

_Who the fuck am I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when Lance talks to that human in Vormosa, he's speaking Cuban Spanish, so it should translate to "What's up friend? How the hell are you?" (that is according to a website about Cuban slang I found lolol)
> 
> This is really hard to explain, but I think the impact of El'Ren's death is that is allows the reader to see what's going on with Lance. Like, it's not a big deal, Lance was literally just glancing at something else and then, _boom,_ his teammate is dead. And Lance is more impacted by the death of a random human enemy than his own teammate. But the point is, Lance is struggling to relearn how to work with a team and look out for other people besides himself.
> 
> Another cool writing thing: The Cuban man asked Lance 'who are you?' and Tureg immediately answered for him. He's Leandro. And there's the BP!Lance reveal and then at the end of the chapter when the prophecy is revealed he's all like whaaaat and y'know now we've got this theme of identity (plus Magie's necklace if you remember also represents identity) and wow i hope y'all dig that shit like i do
> 
> Interesting stuff just happened tho, amiright? Next chapter, look forward to Lance finally confronting evil Voltron!!! AHHHHH I'm excited >:D
> 
> Not to shamelessly self-promote, BUT if you’re digging Lance’s little foray into military life, you might like [this one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080386) I wrote a while ago that’s also a loose military au (and is coincidentally the only other fanfiction I have published LOL).
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**


	12. The Final Frontier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recovery, preparations, and the final battle of the Twelve Deca-Phoebs War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, going to be completely honest. This right here is not my best work. I had like, a million plot holes to finish up, a lot of which I forgot existed and had to go back and fix. This chapter was just super hard for me to churn out.
> 
> But, I did it! The deed is done! So here it is for your reading pleasure...
> 
> Also, congratulations to anybody who's awake right now and about to start reading this 10k chapter. You're a real one.

When Lance ran out of Zip, he thought it would be fine. He would just drink at the bar and it would be great, no harm, no foul. It didn’t take long for Lance to figure out that maybe he had managed to get himself addicted to the stuff.

After the incident in Vormosa, Lance had been doing a lot of close combat training with Alpha Squadron. Tureg often insisted that Lance use a blindfold during drills to get used to sensing movements around him, and it had proved to be a surprisingly helpful training technique. Lance was fairly certain that even Keith with his Blade experience wouldn’t be able to sneak up on him anymore.

They’d also started training with their newest recruit, Taman. She seemed alright to Lance, but he figured she’d drawn the short straw. Ever since Vormosa, tensions were high within the team. Vin clearly harbored a grudge against Lance for his role in El’Ren’s death, which made running missions difficult, and the rest of the team wasn’t very welcoming to Taman, which Lance found strange considering how they’d accepted Lance with open arms.

Lance had a tried and true way of dealing with tensions and unwanted emotional stimulation. And after a month of constantly sporting a sheen of cold sweat, getting a lot of comments about his unusually pallid complexion, and a few too many hallucinations, Lance finally admitted to himself that he was in withdrawal.

Which is how he found himself back at Ham’Ah’s lab. It was lunchtime, which meant that every single Mana’Lo-an would be eating. Except for Ham’Ah, _the workaholic._ He figured lunch would offer him the most privacy, but he still felt kind of bad about disturbing Ham’Ah.

Technically, she wasn’t a doctor, but she was well-versed in the field. Lance had started going to her instead of the general infirmary for his injuries, anyways. Apparently, when he’d first came to _Mana’Lo,_ the hospital had been short-staffed and that was why the scientist had been tending to him. Lance still thought she made a pretty kickass doctor.

“Are you going to stand at my door all quintant or come in?” Ham’Ah called from inside of the empty lab, so Lance sighed and stepped in. “I thought we were past the silent and broody routine. What’s up?”

“I’m… uh…”

“Spit it out or get out. Those are your two options.”

“Alright, _relájate!_ I need your help with something.”

Ham’Ah turned away from the experiment she was hunched over and gave him an unimpressed look. Lance huffed in annoyance.

“I need you to help me get more of a... substance.”

“And what _substance_ might that be, oh very vague one?”

Lance glared at the smirking Mana’Lo-an even though she couldn’t see his face under his mask. It was a matter of principle. He pulled a vial out of his pocket, where he’d stored some Zip that he had managed to salvage from the last hit he’d taken for this very purpose. The red alien snatched it out of his hand and pushed her hover-chair across the lab, probably doing some scans or something. There was a _beep_ a few seconds later.

“This is just… acetaminophen. That doesn’t do anything for Mana’Lo-ans. Our telepathy cancels out its emotion-numbing properties. It’s supposed to help with physical pain, but when it’s completely undiluted… I didn’t think anything of it when this showed up in your blood scans earlier,” Ham’Ah said, almost as if she were talking to herself, before turning to Lance sharply. “Leandro, did you come to me to get more of a _fucking drug?”_

_Backpedal, backpedal, backpedal._

“I mean… Well--”

“Shut it. Telepathy, remember? You’re in withdrawal right now. Maybe have been for a while. Fuck, Leandro, what are you doing to yourself?” Ham’Ah said sadly, her eyes now trained on his mask. Lance didn’t know if she actually wanted an answer or not, but Ham’Ah just sighed and turned to a monitor on another machine. “How long have you been taking it, and in what dosage?”

“What? Why does that matter,” Lance questioned, not really following the alien’s train of thought.

“I’m not getting you more of that drug, idiot. I’m going to help you detox. How long?”

Lance rubbed his neck sheepishly. The room was starting to swirl like a kaleidoscope, but Lance knew it was just another hallucination.

“I guess I’ve been taking it for… a year? And a half? And, uh… like once a week, in doses about this big,” Lance said, forming the shape of a Zip packet with his hands. Ham’Ah just nodded along, tapping away at the monitor. “And I haven’t had any for maybe a month now.”

“Okay. That means the drug shouldn’t be in your system anymore, you’ve just become dependent on it. I can give you,” Ham’Ah started, rolling away from the monitor to a machine that she had apparently just programmed to fabricate something. “Buprenorphine. That should help you get over your addiction. But listen to me, Lance. For a human like you, this could be addictive as well. I’m keeping you on it for a month, and then you’re done, got it? One pill, once a day, with your dinner. And no more alcohol while you’re on this, alright?”

Lance nodded, taking the bottle of pills that Ham’Ah shoved into his hand. He felt like a helpless child, but he could at least recognize that maybe his Zip addiction was a weakness. Dependency of any kind was. Even though he’d originally been intending to just get more of the drug, he figured it would be better for him in the long run if he could leave it behind.

“Thanks, Ham’Ah. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, but then she was glaring at Lance again. “Before you go, I’m not stupid. I’ve never encountered a drug addiction before, but I _am_ a scientist. I know there’s most likely a psychological element to it. So if you ever need anything besides my help inventing a machine so you can _literally traverse realities,_ then I hope you know my door is always open.”

Lance chuckled, but at the same felt a pang of guilt. He was asking so much of this alien. And she had helped him with everything and anything without a second thought. She’d saved his life, she was working on trying to get him home. He didn’t know if he could ever repay her.

“Leandro, is it so hard to believe that I’m helping you because I like you?” Ham’Ah said, interrupting Lance’s thoughts. “I’d like to think we’re friends at this point. Talking to you is fun, for the most part, and so are all of the insane problems that you bring me to solve. You don’t owe me anything, dude. And you never will.”

Lance dug his hands into his pockets. He’d made plenty of friends during his solo journey, but it was still overwhelming whenever someone said something like that. Even back with Voltron, he’d only ever been close with the other paladins. For all of his bravado, Lance wasn’t very good at this. And Ham’Ah was helping him move past something that had felt like a huge, immovable obstacle for so long, one that Lance hadn’t even acknowledged existed until a few days ago. This was a big deal.

“Thank you. Really. That means a lot to me.”

Ham’Ah rolled her eyes and turned back to the experiment Lance had interrupted.

“I know. I can read your mind. Now get out of here!”

Lance laughed again and turned to leave the lab, this time with significantly higher spirits, but Ham’Ah yelled after him down the hall.

“And next time you come into my lab uninvited, there better be a cute tailless wolf with you!”

***

Lance was starting to look forward to the day when he could leave Alpha Squadron and fly with Red again, even if he would miss Ja’Ni and Tureg. Lance guessed he’d just caused another team to fall apart. He’d taken a fifth of Voltron with him to an alternate reality, effectively screwing his former team, and now he’d managed to fuck up again when given a chance to start over. If there was anything Lance had learned though, it was that life went on.

Lance had gotten over his addiction with Ham’Ah’s help, clean for about two movements now. He didn’t even drink alcohol as often as he used to. Everything looked a lot different with a fresh set of eyes. Lance had never known anyone with an addiction problem back on Earth, but he had a lot more respect for anyone who had gone through what he had. Lance figured he’d gotten off easy, all things considered.

Lam’Orn had announced her pregnancy after Alpha Squadron had returned from their last mission a movement ago, and now they would have to recruit another new member. Lance was happy for her, of course. Mana’Lo-an pregnancies were supposed to be a lot shorter than Earth ones, but apparently more difficult to recover from. Lam’Orn would probably have to retire from being a field operative after she had her baby.

Needless to say, things within Alpha were still tense. They still managed to get top scores in the simulator and had a nearly perfect record when it came to completed missions, so for now they would remain a respected squad and Kur’In’s first pick for difficult missions. Lance figured that once he left and the team recalibrated, they would be better off.

Aside from missions with Alpha, Lance had been watching Ham’Ah make slow progress on whatever device she was constructing with the trans-reality comet sample she had gotten. She was always vague whenever Lance asked what she was up to, but Lance probably wouldn’t have understood any of her scientific jargon even if she did give him a straight answer. And she probably knew it, _that telepathic bastard._ He and Bo had been spending a lot of time in the lab when they were off duty, just hanging with the other scientists. They were a pretty chill bunch.

Lance rarely thought of his time on _Carmen IV_ anymore, but it inevitably resurfaced in his mind on some nights. He’d spoken to Ham’Ah about it more often than anyone since she had been the one to help him get over his Zip addiction. Ja’Ni and Tureg knew bits and pieces as well. Lance found himself taking his mask off more and more often, but his bayard was still inactive on his wrist.

Then there was the navy alien who had been coming down to the training grounds more often, pulling Lance during drills, meals, and even mission briefings. Lance supposed fixing up a Voltron Lion was more important than smaller intelligence operations in the long run.

Now was one of the times when Lance’s meal had been interrupted by the enthusiastic scientist. The blue Mana’Lo-an (who’s name Lance had still never found out) led Lance back to the open field where Red was sitting, chattering excitedly that _this could be it,_ so Lance nodded along even as he felt the Red Lion herself preening in his mind. She was very pleased with her upgrades.

“Why don’t you take her up for a spin, make sure everything’s in working order?”

Lance glanced between the blue alien, the other scientists who had gathered around, Red, and Bo who was a red and black blur racing around the lion, probably sensing the excitement in the air.

“Right. Thanks, uh--”

“Ma’Ro,” the blue alien provided with an easy smile. “Go on, then!”

Lance’s grin was hidden under his mask, but he suspected the Mana’Lo-ans could feel his eagerness as he jogged up to Red, who’s ramp lowered immediately.

He made his way up her polished ramp, Bo rushing ahead of him and prancing around in the cockpit, and he felt so happy and so hopeful at that moment. It wasn’t surprising though, because even though those emotions had been rare before, he felt them every time without fail in Red’s presence.

Red purred as he settled down in the pilot’s seat, noting some new buttons on the dashboard and trying to recall what Ma’Ro had said they did. Bo took her customary position curled around the base of the pilot seat.

“Let’s see what you got, _señorita!_ ” he yelled as he pulled back on the controls and the three companions blasted off into space.

Teal grass and blue trees faded until all that was visible was the cloudy planet surface, and before him stretched an endless expanse that felt a lot more like home than it had used to. Lance had never in all of the time he had spent on _Mana’Lo_ or _Carmen IV_ felt this good, this ready to face whatever Haggar or the Galra or the Earth Empire had to throw at him. With Red and Bo by his side, he knew he could take on anything. He felt an untamable, potent energy coursing through his veins, so he took off his mask and hollered into the vastness of outer space.

He could get used to this, feeling like he belonged. Feeling content. _This is who I am. I’m Lance McClain, the Red Paladin of Voltron._ He weaved around the few stars within the vicinity of _Mana’Lo_ and released another joyous yell. It was answered by a howl from Bo and an amused grumble from Red.

***

Shortly after Red was declared ready for battle, Lance had been called to a decision briefing in the Robin Room where his transfer from the army to the space force was discussed. Tureg stopped Lance in the hall outside of the meeting room to exchange words that sounded suspiciously like a goodbye.

“Going off to be a hotshot pilot, huh?”

“I guess so. I hope you don’t have too much trouble replacing me,” Lance joked, bumping shoulders with his superior officer.

“You’re a good man, Leandro. Fuck the prophecy, alright? I know you’ll make me proud out there,” the pink Mana’Lo-an said, stepping back and giving Lance a proper military salute that Lance returned immediately. “See you around, soldier.”

Tureg continued past Lance, probably heading back to the infirmary to check on Lam’Orn, and Lance walked into the rather full Robin Room. Kur’In, the space force leader Krull, and several other high ranking military officers that Lance had spoken to a few times during his time with Alpha Squadron were all present. The meeting itself was rather short, everyone agreeing that in light of Vana’Lu’s prophecy and some new intelligence from a recent mission, Lance should begin work with Krull immediately.

Lance felt kind of relieved that it had been settled relatively painlessly. Despite his status as the prophesized savior of _Mana’Lo,_ it was funny how often Lance was treated like any other member of the military. His transfer had to be approved, he had to report to a superior officer, he had to train with everyone else. Lance really didn’t mind. The structure that he’d gotten used to here was a nice change of pace.

After the meeting, Lance spent the rest of the morning hanging out in Ham’Ah’s lab before he was introduced to Krull a few vargas later. The two walked around the grounds while they talked.

“Voltron and Earth haven't staged another full-scale attack on _Mana’Lo_ ever since the initial invasion. That’s mostly thanks to our heavy fortifications,” Krull said, glancing pointedly at the giant anti-aircraft guns mounted on the particle barrier generators. “And as you’ve witnessed with Kur’In’s operations, we tend to play it safe with our ground troops. We pick our fights carefully because unlike the Earth Empire, we aren’t willing to risk the lives of our people.”

Lance respected that. The strategy Kur’In had used with his deployment of the ground troops had been like what the Blade of Marmora or even Voltron was doing back in his reality to fight the Galra. Choosing specific locations, focusing on minimal casualties and maximum damage.

“But what you haven’t seen is how we fight in the sky,” Krull continued, looking more enthusiastic as he got to his favored subject. “Now, your magical feline warship might be fancy, but we’ve got some tricks up our sleeves, too. Come on,” he said as he started jogging back through the training grounds and towards the hangars.

Lance had never found the time to wander over to the hangars. While the huge complex was only about a football field north of the training grounds, Lance had been pretty busy with Alpha Squadron, Red, and Ham’Ah’s weird experiments. Come to think of it, he’d never even seen any of these supposedly high tech Mana’Lo-an fighter ships take off or land in the hangar. Whenever he needed a ship for a mission, it was prepped and waiting on the runway for them. Krull chuckled in a condescending way that Lance somehow didn’t find offensive.

“We’ve got a… I don’t know what Ma’Ro has everyone calling it, but-- Well, actually, let me start with this. I’m sure you know about the Blue Lion’s abilities to create three-dimensional scans using sound waves, right?” Lance nodded, focusing on walking fast enough to keep pace with Krull. “Well, a while ago, before you came around, Voltron had started gathering intelligence on our military operations. The queen didn’t know if Earth would try to attack _Mana’Lo_ again, but if they wanted to, they had all of the information they needed. So we completely reorganized our military compounds and hangars and Ma’Ro built this cool barrier that blocks sound, radio, heat waves. Everything.”

That made sense. That reorganization was probably the source of Lance’s least favorite rule, that there could be no communication between squadrons even if they were working the same operation. As for the barrier, he had encountered similar technology on _Carmen IV._ Lance supposed the sound-proof barrier around the Ring was some variant of what Krull was describing, though probably considerably lower tech.

“So the barrier is coded to make it _look_ like hangars, right? But none of the ships ever enter or leave, like you’ve noticed. We obviously have a space force. Why hide it? That’s because,” Krull said, giving a dramatic pause as he scanned his keycard on the door to what Lance had just been told wasn’t actually what it appeared to be. Then Krull stepped through the open hangar door and _disappeared._ Lance blinked in surprise. “...It’s a hell of a lot bigger than Earth knows.”

Lance stepped beyond the doors, which slid shut behind him, and suddenly the disembodied voice was attached to a body again. The body of a Mana’Lo-an who was grinning like a loon. And Lance was _floored._

There must have been thousands of fighters, transports, and stealth vehicles all docked neatly in endless rows. Monitors flashed with flight times and assignment changes, Mana’Lo-ans of all ages bustled around, some in full flight gear with helmets tucked under their arms and others with notepads and lab coats.

The halls were a pristine white, which contrasted with the sleek grey and black spacecraft that Lance could tell were fast as all hell. He was staring at an _armada._

“Pretty fucking awesome, eh? The barrier combined with our stealth technology means that our ships remain virtually invisible to the Earth Empire until we decide to reveal ourselves. Enough gazing at my incredible achievement in awe, though. Let’s go to my office and talk strategy.”

On the way to Krull’s office, which was near the center of the huge hangar, several pilots stopped and saluted Lance. Even though he hadn’t held a high rank during his time in Alpha Squadron, he supposed now he had even more authority than Krull. More responsibility.

Krull waved at all of the pilots and technicians, yelling across the halls and slapping their backs with none of the decorum Lance had seen from Kur’In. He was quite the character, and that character was reflected in the cluttered office Lance stepped into. It was full of knick-knacks, maps, and spare electronics -- he wasn't even sure where the desk was supposed to be under the mounds of junk. Nonetheless, Krull got straight to business.

“Take a seat wherever you want, Leandro. One disclaimer, before we get serious. You might’ve heard some rumors floating around Ja’Lu Palace about my division, but none of that shit is true. We may lose a lot of soldiers, but it’s not due to any Mana’Lo-an incompetence,” he said, kicking some scrap metal into a corner while Lance just stood awkwardly in a patch of the room where he could actually see the floor. He didn’t see anywhere that was suitable for sitting.

“You’ve seen the destructive power of Voltron up close. When Voltron combines with Galaxy Garrison forces, you can expect a goddamn bloodbath. We’ve had our fair share of victories and losses in the skies, but the most successful battles are always the ones where the enemy isn’t expecting us. Now, you’re here to help me systematically defeat a giant empire that I’ve been fighting for deca-phoebs. What do you have for me, Paladin?”

***

About a phoeb after Lance had begun flying missions with Red, he had been summoned for an audience with Vana’Lu. He stood alone before two enormous ti’ka doors, behind which sat a queen who believed the fate of her entire planet rested on him. _No big deal._

Lance knew that he was supposed to be presented to the queen because of his previous encounter with her and thanks to a few rants from Ham’Ah about it, but no one was around just yet so he stood by the doors awkwardly. He wished he’d brought Bo with him, but she had fallen asleep with her head in Ham’Ah’s lap and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Luckily, a Mana’Lo-an poked his head through the door, interrupting Lance’s nervous thoughts.

“Good, you’re here.”

Lance recognized this alien -- he was the guard who had led him around Ja’Lu Palace when he had first arrived and served him dinner with Kur’In. That must’ve been at least eight phoebs ago by now. Four more months and Lance will have been gone from his reality for two years.

The number didn’t seem so daunting, though. Not when Red was fully repaired and Ham’Ah had admitted that she was closing in on a solution to his problem. His _I’m stranded in the wrong fucking reality_ problem.

Lance followed the alien into the throne room, which was still glowing and beeping with random electronics (some of which Lance recognized now) just like he remembered, and then he was standing before Vana’Lu. She looked more tired than she had the last time he had seen her.

“Presenting Leandro, Red Paladin of Voltron and esteemed member of her majesty’s royal army,” his guide said, though he omitted the usual bow. Lance supposed it may not be an actual Mana’Lo-an custom, just something Ham’Ah did for whatever reason. Given the general disdain Ham’Ah had expressed for the customs of her planet, Lance wouldn’t put it past her.

“Thank you, Ga’Ha. You’re dismissed,” Vana’Lu said, waving her hand, and like magic the royal guards and various staff members cleared out of the throne room, leaving Lance and the queen alone.

“Paladin. I thank you for your service in the Alpha Squadron and with our pilots. I wanted to speak to you directly about some new information we have received,” she said, clearly not in the mood to entertain any questions from Lance. She was all business right now, and Lance didn’t really mind. He always felt awkward speaking out loud to stronger telepaths when he could tell they already knew what he planned to say.

“Foxtrot and Sierra Squadrons have recently intercepted a ship that was closely involved with the Black Paladin’s organ trafficking project. I know you have encountered such a ship before,” she said, watching Lance’s face with a deliberate impassiveness despite the mask he was wearing. Lance tried to clear his mind for the moment.

“This one had important intelligence that Sierra managed to recover at great cost. Voltron is planning to attack _Carmen IV_ in two quintants and I want you to lead a counter strike. Your primary objective will be preventing Voltron from touching down on the planet’s surface, and your secondary objective is to inflict as much damage on Voltron and Earth Empire forces as possible.”

 _Why is Voltron going to_ Carmen IV _? And why would_ Mana’Lo _want to protect the planet full of criminals?_ And two days to plan an effective battle strategy against the evil Voltron of this reality that Lance had never encountered during his entire career in the Mana’Lo-an army? This wasn’t what he imagined his first royal assignment would be like. Vana’Lu carefully schooled her face into a neutral expression.

“We aren’t sure why Voltron has turned its sights to _Carmen IV,_ but we believe they may have run out of… subjects from which they can harvest organs. The populations of other terraformed planets have been put to work manufacturing goods and doing labor for the expanding empire, and those are bodies Earth can’t afford to lose. As a matter of principle, we cannot stand idly by while those on _Carmen IV_ are abducted for nefarious purposes. Thanks to Foxtrot and Sierra Squadron’s work, we believe we may even have the element of surprise in the upcoming battle. Time is of the essence, Paladin. Krull has been informed of your new mission.”

Apparently, that final remark meant she was done speaking with Lance because the royal hall was suddenly flooded with attendants and guards as if they had never been gone, and Ga’Ha was ushering Lance away from the throne and the ocher-colored alien.

As he was about to step back out of the room, he heard Vana’Lu’s voice over the murmured conversations and hasty footsteps that had filled the air.

“Paladin... I have foreseen it. This will be the final battle.”

***

The plan that Lance and Krull (and a few other Mana’Lo-an space squad leaders) came up with seemed like a solid one to Lance. Earth Empire forces typically used the same attack formations that Lance was used to seeing from the Galra, using their warships to block off sections and sending in fleets of smaller fighter ships to overwhelm the enemy.

Mana’Lo-an technology was further along than Earth tech, which meant their fighter ships had a larger range and more firepower. They didn’t have huge warships like Earth, instead trading giant cannons for greater maneuverability and firepower.

Lance had seen some training sequences and was floored by the Mana’Lo-an ships, They were almost as powerful as Lotor’s Sincline. And now that Lance knew that they apparently had exactly 4,207 fighters at their disposal he was liking their odds.

The general plan was a classic sneak attack. Mana’Lo-an forces would amass undetected on the other side of _Carmen IV_ and wait for Lance’s signal. He would be distracting Voltron, and while he did so the Mana’Lo-ans would take out the warships, leaving the smaller fighter ships with no place to dock.

Lance wouldn’t kid himself, though. He knew that as soon as lasers started flying all hell would break loose. You couldn’t really have organization when you had four thousand individually piloted crafts, even when they were theoretically broken up into fleets that answered to specific people. Lance had seen this type of battle before. It was going to be messy.

And then, of course, there was the fact that there wasn’t an actual plan to defeat Voltron. Krull tended to want to avoid battles with the lions, more often electing to fight Earth Empire forces than the fearsome feline warships. Lance knew that the Mana’Lo-ans would be counting on him, on his one lion, to somehow defeat Voltron on his own.

Lance wasn’t too confident about his chances of survival in this battle, but he already knew in his heart that if he had to sacrifice himself for these people and this planet, he would in a heartbeat. And even though she had prophecies about it, Vana’Lu refused to announce the name of the upcoming battle, which led Lance to believe that something huge was about to go down. And he had absolutely no idea what.

Despite all of these factors, the mission was about to launch in the next few doboshes. The queen had made a rousing speech to the entire fleet, and all of the ground forces and palace staff were gathered around the hangar, cheering and whistling. Lance could see Tureg and Ja’Ni in the crowd, and Ham’Ah was standing right in front of him.

Lance had spent a lot of time deciding what he would wear to his potentially final battle. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that it would mean something. He could wear the old paladin armor that had been lying unused in Red’s cargo hold for months. He could wear the silver suit and brown duster from _Carmen IV._

But Lance had settled on the standard black shirt, belted cargo pants, and combat boots of the Mana’Lo-an army. He was fighting for them, and he felt like one of them as well. Lance had also slipped on the necklace Magie had given him, as a reminder of who he wanted to be. If he survived this battle, he supposed he would be one step closer to becoming that person.

“Don’t die out there, Leandro! When you get back, I’ll have something working for you!” Ham’Ah called over the cheering crowd of Mana’Lo-ans. It was about time to leave. The other pilots had all boarded their crafts and were running system diagnostics.

“Sure, Ham’Ah!” Lance yelled back. “Take care of Bo while I’m gone!”

Then Lance was hustling up his lion’s ramp and plopping down in the cockpit. He linked into the coms system with the rest of the space squad leaders using the headset Ma’Ro had integrated into his mask, and then he was preparing to leave _Mana’Lo_ again. But this time he knew he wouldn’t be coming back unless he had ended this war once and for all.

It was strange to think that the first time he had made this journey, it had taken him two weeks in his half-charged lion. Now, thanks to Mana’Lo-an upgrades and a fully charged power core, he could make the journey to _Carmen_ in just under two vargas.

He clenched Magie’s necklace in one fist, pressing it to his lips as he set the course for _Carmen IV_ and Voltron. An army of fully-cloaked space ships waited in the hangar, ready to follow him to what could very well be their final battle. For good or ill. For the fate of _Mana’Lo._

Red purred at Lance, sending him the determination and love that had gotten them through the worst of times. He closed his eyes and saw the masses of Mana’Lo-ans through Red’s eyes, saw Krull and Kur’In and Vana’Lu standing tall. He saw Tureg, Ja’Ni, Vin, Taman, Lam’Orn and her baby girl, Ma’Ro. Ham’Ah and Bo. He knew who he was and who he was willing to fight for.

Red’s thrusters burst into fiery life and then Lance was flying towards his fate. The prophecy didn’t matter. He would fight, and he would win.

***

Voltron hadn’t even gotten within a twenty-mile radius of _Carmen IV._ Sierra Squadron’s intelligence was bad, Earth didn’t want any of the drug addicts and common crooks from the silver desert planet. It had been the bait for a trap, one that Lance had fallen right into.

The whole thing had been scarily similar to the time in Lance’s reality that Voltron had tried to rescue Allura. It became clear a few minutes into the battle that the Earth forces had indeed been expecting them. The supposed element of surprise was completely absent from the battlefield.

Based on the current situation, Lance would hazard a guess that this battle had been planned by Voltron for some time. Voltron, who wasn’t even _there_ yet so Lance had made the executive decision to begin the attack on the Empire forces.

As soon as the Mana’Lo-an ships uncloaked, Earth warships took up positions, surrounding the entire fleet and proceeding to generate a _giant particle barrier_ around them. While Lance and a few of the ships closer to him were quick enough to escape, the Mana’Lo-an ships inside couldn’t do anything and were completely cut off from coms.

Lance and Red were totally in sync thanks to their strong bond and the Mana’Lo-an upgrades, and they were rampaging through the Earth fleets, trying to get closer to the warships so they could bring down the particle barrier. They were moving faster than Lance had ever gone, dodging lasers, firing an extra-powerful fire beam, ducking, rolling, crushing enemies in strong mandibles.

Lance tried his best to protect the few hundred ships he had against the Earth forces, very aware that Voltron had yet to make an appearance. He could easily destroy this fleet on his own -- he’d done as much damage on the few other space missions he’d gone on. As long as Voltron didn’t show up.

But as soon as the thought passed through his mind, he regretted it because he could see a multicolored streak exploding into life in his peripheral vision. His connection with Red started fritzing in and out, which Lance guessed had to do with the newfound proximity to her counterpart, and then Voltron was opening a video link with him and he was kind of panicking.

“You must be the infamous Red Paladin that I’ve heard so much about! I’m Lance McClain, Black Paladin of Voltron, loved and adored by all. Maybe you know me? But enough about myself. You know, I’d really love to finally see that cute face you’ve been hiding under that mask. So why don’t you surrender and then we can talk face to face?”

It was his own voice. His own face, minus the scars. He looked older, too. But it was Lance. He knew this day would come at some point, but he hadn’t been as prepared as he thought. This was new levels of fucked up.

“Why the hell would I do that?” he replied evenly, pleased that there was no waver in his voice. He supposed so many months on a planet where any sign of weakness marked you as a target had been useful in some respects.

“Uh, let’s list the reasons,” the Black Paladin said, grinning as he held up a finger. “One: because I asked nicely. Two: because I _really_ think we should meet, exchange phone numbers, maybe a kiss or two. Three: because all of your friends that aren’t currently trapped are dead.”

Lance looked up in confusion because the Mana’Lo-ans were still fighting despite the fact that he had come to a stop in the middle of the battle. He could hear his troops yelling orders through his helmet.

Then Voltron started materializing the yellow bayard’s multi-targeting cannon and Lance barely had time to yell before it was firing, destroying the several hundred Mana’Lo-an ships that had been fighting in the sky. The silence in Lance’s com was all of the confirmation he needed. He willed the tears in his eyes away.

“And four: because if you don’t surrender right now _I’ll give the order to annihilate the rest of the fleet that you so kindly led into my trap._ Feeling compelled yet?”

 _Fuck._ They were so fucked. Fucking Vana’Lu and her fucking prophecies. Lance grunted, and his counterpart practically squealed in delight.

“Alright! Why don’t we land in a familiar place, hmm? I’m sure you remember Reifen. Let’s go take a walk down memory lane, eh?”

The video feed cut off and Voltron went rocketing down to _Carmen IV,_ and Lance felt a huge wave of fear pass over him. Red didn’t offer any comfort as he cautiously piloted her down to the silver surface of a planet he had thought he would never return to, glancing back at the scattered remains of an eighth of his fleet, the rest trapped inside of the particle barrier. Out of all the scenarios Lance had imagined playing out, he hadn’t even considered this.

Voltron touched down, not directly next to Reifen like Lance had assumed they would, but next to a very recognizable building. The Ring. Lance swallowed the lump in his throat, considering any alternate plans of action besides doing what the evil version of himself wanted him to do.

Maybe the Black Paladin had been bluffing and they couldn’t really destroy the Mana’Lo-an fleet. After all, Lance had never seen a particle barrier capable of doing damage like that. Then again, up until a few moments ago Lance and all of _Mana’Lo_ hadn’t even known that Earth had this kind of technology. The ability to create particle barriers using multiple ships. None of this should be possible. Voltron reconnected to his communications system, the face Lance had already grown to hate popping up on his dashboard.

“We don’t have all day, Red Paladin. Get out here, and I’ll introduce you to _my_ Red Paladin. Won’t that be fun? C’mon, time's a-tickin’!” he sing-songed, and Lance didn’t know what else to do. So he stood up and walked numbly to Red’s ramp, surprised by the visceral reaction he felt at the sight of familiar silver sand.

Red was still silent over their bond, and Lance glanced over at Voltron, which was looming menacingly over the Ring. As soon as Red’s ramp came back up though, Voltron disbanded, landing in a circle of five familiar lions. As Lance watched, the other Red Lion’s ramp lowered and a familiar paladin stepped out, closing the short distance between them and coming to a stop in front of Lance. He looked as beautiful as Lance remembered him, just a little older and without the fire in his eyes that Lance adored.

“Keith,” he breathed out. This couldn’t be real. But alternate reality Keith with his long hair (it was way longer than a mullet at this point) and violet eyes ignored Lance, holding out a hand.

“Give me your weapons.”

It was a simple command, though it still sounded uncharacteristically timid from the man Lance had known as a hothead. Lance didn’t find the strength in himself to try anything with this version of Keith. He decided he would have better luck with alternate reality Hunk. He couldn’t imagine a reality where Hunk wasn’t a total cinnamon roll.

So Lance grabbed the three knives he still kept hidden on his person out of habit, and after a pointed glance from Keith, removed the bayard from his wrist, dumping the weapons into Keith’s waiting arms.

Then Keith pulled out his own bayard, which formed a blaster ( _what the fuck?_ ) and proceeded to plant it at the base of Lance’s neck, shoving him towards the front entrance of the giant arena. Lance couldn’t turn his head as he walked, but he could hear the other paladins exiting their lions and following closely behind.

The Ring was eerily silent, probably because it was the off season or something, but that didn’t stop Lance from feeling his body tense up as he was forced to walk through the familiar halls. Black Paladin Lance was humming a song as he skipped behind him, one that Lance recognized as one his mother used to sing in Cuba, and all of the memories from home and _Carmen IV_ and Voltron flooding his mind didn’t help ease his slight panic.

After a few more turns, they emerged into the giant dirt circle. Last time Lance had been here, the roof had been open to the sly, but this time it was covered and only a few streams of light came in.

This was the place where Lance had murdered his first aliens. He had killed other people for _sport._ He hunched over, clutching at his stomach and trying his best not to barf. He heard his own voice saying something behind him, and then the pressure of the blaster on his neck was gone and Lance was being shoved out into the arena.

“Nasty place, this. I’ve heard all about your triumph and escape. For such a quiet guy, Soldat sure wouldn’t stop running his mouth about _you._ ”

Lance looked up at the Black Paladin, and stifled a gag. He wanted to be anywhere but here right now, with these people.

“Soldat’s dead,” Lance rasped. He remembered driving his sword through the monster's chest, still had the scar on his shoulder as a reminder of their brief skirmish.

“Hmm… I don’t think so. I mean, I spoke to him, maybe a year ago? He seemed fine to me, perfectly willing to talk to me about the _Black Paladin._ Which is curious isn’t it,” he said, tapping his chin as if in thought. “Because _I’m_ the Black Paladin, and I’ve never had the honor of fighting in this stupid planet’s gladiator ring. But I’d absolutely love to see someone pretty enough to be confused with me!”

The rest of the paladins trailed back in at that point, Hunk and Pidge carrying chairs and Keith and a Blue Paladin that Lance didn’t recognize as Allura or Shiro with some chains. _Not again._ He offered some resistance as Hunk shoved him into a chair and Keith began chaining him up, but a slug in the gut from Hunk that hurt a lot more emotionally than physically got him to stay still.

As soon as Keith was satisfied with his chaining, the rest of the paladins stood back while the Black Paladin grabbed the other chair, turning it around so he could rest his chin on the back. He smirked, giving Lance a once over.

“Well, enough with the build up! Let’s see that ugly mug,” he crowed, and then Pidge came up, fiddling around with the mask until it released a hissing sound and came off of his face. Lance blinked up at the half-circle of paladins around him. They all looked various degrees of surprised.

“Well, that’s certainly interesting.”

None of the other paladins had uttered a single word, which Lance found disconcerting. It could be a weird intimidation tactic. Or maybe they were all afraid of the Black Paladin.

“So, _Lance,_ is it? Your face is kind of messed up man, you might want to look into that,” his counterpart laughed, turning to look at Keith. “What do you think, baby? Is he as pretty as me?”

Keith looked at his feet and mumbled a negative. _What did he do to you?_

“Look, we knew you’d arrived the second you got here. Good old Aman’Lu told me all about it, a Red Paladin from another reality destined to challenge my stake in this universe, yada yada yada. So we’ve been preparing for this moment the whole time you were busy jacking off on this trash heap of a planet,” the Black Paladin said, gesticulating in a familiarly animated manner. It really was like looking in a mirror.

“Funnily enough, you weren’t the most pressing thing on my agenda by the time you got to _Mana’Lo_ and started fraternizing with the enemy, you know? I had an empire to run, organs to harvest. The usual. But this right here, right now? This is destiny, if you can believe it!” the Black Paladin declared, cackling with glee.

“Fuck you! Let me out of this chair and I’ll fucking kill you, _hijueputa!”_

“Ah, ah, ah, I just want to talk right now. Boy, you must be a real _idiota_ in your reality! And you being the Red Paladin? Is that some kind of joke? We’ve always been meant for greater things, Lance. Look at what I’ve built here. The people love me. Girls and boys can’t get enough of me. I’ve _saved_ them all!”

Lance looked into the bloodshot eyes of his clone, and he was scared by how much he recognized. He could see the insecurities that he suffered from, the fear and the doubt that he tried so hard to bury under layers of bravado and then a physical mask. It was easy to recognize on his own face, even if the version of himself staring back at him was a little meaner, a few years older, and free of scars.

“You’re not saving them, though. The people on _Carmen IV_ hate you. And look at us! The paladins of Voltron are supposed to be your friends! They’re _afraid_ of you! You’re killing innocents? Manipulating an entire planet? This isn’t--”

“ _¡Cállate!_ ” the other Lance roared at him, and Lance saw Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and the Blue Paladin all flinch. “You just don’t understand. You’re an inferior version of me. But I’ll teach you, and then you’ll be better.”

“You’re insane!”

At that, the Black Paladin shot out of his chair, getting up in Lance’s face and gripping his chin hard enough to bruise.

“Look at you getting all self-righteous! Maybe you’re insane! You’ve been alone for so long, haven’t you? Where are you friends now, _verraco?_ It’s just you and me, and we both know out of the two of us I’m the stronger one. _I’m_ the Black Paladin! The leader of Voltron! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Lance felt a faint energy thrumming in his fingertips. He ignored the anger and fear and reached for it, and then he felt a familiar weight in his hand. His bayard. He grinned viciously at his clone before headbutting him without warning, hearing the satisfying sound of the Black Paladin’s nose cracking.

Then, he used the bayard to cut through his chains in one fluid motion even as the Black Paladin wheeled backward, clutching at his nose and howling in anger.

“You motherfucker!” he raged, and his hand went for his storage bars before he glanced up, eyes narrowing at the bayard Lance was wielding. Lance followed his gaze and saw that he was holding the _black_ bayard. _Holy shit._

Keith started to advance on Lance, pulling out both red bayards, but Black Paladin Lance stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Not now, baby. This one’s mine.”

And then the Black Paladin was grabbing one of the red bayards from Keith, wiping blood from his nose with his other hand, and lunging at Lance.

The other paladins all stepped back, creating a ring around the two grappling Lances. They rolled around on the ground, kicking and punching until Lance managed to plant his boots in the other’s gut and launch him away, giving him time to stand up and focus on making the bayard in his hand form his standard broadsword. It took a lot more focus than using his own bayard, but when he tried to pull that one back to him, he felt another force working against him.

It was a battle of will power that Lance was too busy to fight. As he prepared to attack, he was horrified to see the Black Paladin use the red bayard to form a giant spiked mace. Lance sidestepped the first swing, but then the spiked ball was detaching from the handle and crashing into Lance’s left wrist, decisively shattering it.

Lance ignored the pain coursing through his body, focusing on the calm that came with being immersed in a combat situation and going on the offensive. He felt the weight of the sword in his hands shift to accommodate him wielding it with one hand and smiled venomously at his counterpart.

Lance had to work extra hard to protect his vulnerable left side, but his attacks were strong and sure. The Black Paladin quickly switched to a pair of dual-wielded scimitars, and the two went around in circles, trading blows. But Lance had trained for this kind of fight his entire time in this reality. On _Mana’Lo,_ he had fought one-handed too many times to count, and on _Carmen IV,_ he had learned to take a fucking hit.

So he bided his time, waiting for a lazy strike from the Black Paladin. When it came, instead of blocking, Lance allowed the curved blade to sink into his bicep, hissing through the pain as he twisted with the blow and drove his blade straight through the Black Paladin’s chest. He watched blood well up from the fatal wound as thick rivulets of red trailed from the corners of the other's mouth.

They were face to face, close enough for Lance to hear the whispered final words of his alternate reality self.

“I am Lance McClain. Tú, tú no eres ni la chancleta de fulano. Débil.”

As Lance watched the older version of his body go limp, he heard Keith yell and come running, grabbing the dead body and shaking it, crying into the other’s bloodstained armor. Lance just slumped back, feeling numb and wrong all over.

He’d just murdered _himself._ That was Lance McClain. He was fucking dead. He’d killed himself. _What the fuck?_

Lance looked up through blurry eyes and saw the other paladins gathering around the limp body of the Black Paladin. Keith was basically catatonic, speaking a stream of gibberish into his hands and clinging to the corpse for dear life. The rest of the paladins looked almost… _relieved._

“So that’s it?” Lance yelled, voice hoarse, and Hunk, Pidge, and the Blue Paladin all turned to him. “Come on then, let’s fucking finish this! I’ll kill all of you!”

Lance stumbled up to his feet, but the world was starting to spin. He tripped and caught himself on his bad wrist, yelping and rolling over to cradle it. The paladins just stared at him. They looked older, too. Pidge had a bionic leg, Hunk had facial hair. Whoever the Blue Paladin was, they had a scar that stood out against their dark complexion, running down their right cheek. Hunk was the one to speak.

“You killed him. You killed Lance.”

“You got that goddamn right, _el cabrón!”_ Lance struggled to his feet again, cradling his wrist to his chest. He closed his eyes and focused, summoning his own bayard. Two red bayards materialized in his hand, and for the life of him he couldn’t tell which was which. He clutched both of them and focused on making a weapon, and then both bayards combined to form a double-sided sword. Just like the one he had originally brought with him into the Ring. _Full fucking circle._

He started approaching the others warily, but Pidge held up her hands and opened her mouth to speak as if she were preparing to surrender.

Then there was a loud screeching and Lance’s old electric blue hover-bike was swerving into the dirt ring, driven by the Mana’Lo-an who had rescued Bo. Behind him, a truck pulled up and Magie, Molly, Klammer, and some of Zug’s old crew all leaped off and jumped into battle.

Lance stood frozen for a moment, watching as older versions of his Voltron family violently clashed with his found family from Nagel. They must’ve seen Red and Voltron descending into the atmosphere… but the drive from Nagel was nine quintants. _How had they gotten here so fast?_ He supposed that didn’t matter, though. They were here now, so Lance jumped into the bloodbath with them, wielding his double-bladed sword in one hand.

Despite their earlier apathy, the paladins of this reality were startlingly effective fighters. They cut through Zug’s crew with ease. Hunk’s bayard was a flail, Pidge wielded dual pistols, and the Blue Paladin had a bow and arrow that Lance had to admit looked totally badass.

Lance ended up fighting back to back with Magie, who Lance couldn’t really get a read on as she emptied her revolvers at Hunk.

“What’re you doing back here, Leandro? Thought you were gone for good,” she said as she dodged a swing of Hunk’s flail. Lance could feel the tails lick his back. Magie had never been one to pay attention to where someone else was in a fight. Lance should know. She had shot him more than a few times.

“You know I couldn’t stay away from you for too long!” Lance called back. Then he remembered that his mask wasn’t on. “I never wanted to tell you…”

“Don’t worry about it, Leandro. Molly gave us all a talk. That woman is terrifying.”

The response was clearly a dismissal. Magie didn’t want to talk about it. So Lance shut up, turned his double-red bayard into a shield, and blocked a shower of lasers from Pidge. He glanced at Molly. She certainly looked terrifying. He’d never seen her fight before, but she was slinging bullets like she had been doing it her whole life. Probably had been.

Lance took an opportunity to summon a long-range weapon while Pidge was distracted by Magie and ended up with a fucking _bazooka_ on his arm. He needed to use his other arm to steady his aim and fire, which hurt like hell, but he had Hunk in his sights and he needed to take the fucking shot. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he was tackled from behind and the shot went haywire, destroying rows and rows of stadium seats.

Lance crashed to the ground, trying to avoid bracing himself with his bad arm, but he still ended up landing on top of it and hearing another crunch. He _really_ didn’t want to know what it looked like if the pain was anything to go by. He tried to roll up, but two knees were caging his hips and he felt a hand at the base of his neck. One wrong move and he was dead.

“You killed him,” Keith said, and his voice sounded absolutely _wrecked._ “You fucking killed him! Why the fuck would you kill him?”

“I’m sorry--” Lance tried, because he really _was._ He was sorry for Keith, anyways, who seemed so strangely dependent on this reality’s Lance. So lost without him.

“I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry,” Keith hissed, and then to prove his point, he put more pressure on Lance’s neck. If he wanted to, he could snap it, just like that. Lance couldn’t tell what was going on around him anymore, not if his friends were still alive or winning the fight. _“You’re going to fucking lose what I just lost!”_

And then the pressure was suddenly gone and Keith had snatched the red bayards off of the ground from where they had been knocked from Lance’s grip. A blaster materialized in Keith’s hand, one that looked a lot stronger than the one Lance had used to use. Keith turned and took aim, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as a streak of red energy crossed the silver dirt, whizzing over Klammer’s head and hitting Magie right between the eyes.

“ _No!_ ”

Lance knew she had been dead before her body hit the floor. He knew it probably hadn’t hurt very much, just one moment, a split second of white-hot heat, and then the blissful nothingness that Lance knew awaited them all. He’d seen it before. But none of that stopped him from being overwhelmed by an all-encompassing rage, from closing his eyes and summoning _every single bayard_ right out of all of the paladins' hands.

And the knowledge that he had already said a goodbye to Magie, but that it had been a bad one, a half-assed one, and that _Keith Kogane_ from an alternate reality had just murdered one of his best friends was what prompted his next action. The mass of bayards in his arms glowed and morphed into the largest sniper rifle Lance had ever held, and then he squeezed the trigger four times. Four bodies, all clad in Voltron armor, dropped to the ground.

He closed his eyes. His ears were ringing. _I killed them all._

“Leandro, come look at me. It’ll be okay, son,” Molly was saying. She’d apparently come up to him at some point. Lance vaguely registered the tears trailing down his cheeks, Klammer’s hand on his shoulder. The Mana’Lo-an was standing to the side, watching the scene before him unfold. _And everyone else was fucking dead._

Lance didn’t know how long he stayed there, crying into Molly’s soldier. But he knew he had thousands of Mana’Lo-ans still trapped in a particle barrier in space. He’d just murdered the paladins of Voltron with their own bayards. But he still had a fucking job to do.

He stumbled to his feet, accepting Klammer’s offer to let him sling his good arm around the other alien’s shoulder, and then they maneuvered around the pile of corpses, heading towards the larger hover-bike the Mana’Lo-an had driven in. _Speaking of the Mana’Lo-an…_

“You’re Aman’Lu,” he said, not bothering to turn his head and look directly at the Mana’Lo-an. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” the pink alien replied in a quiet voice. That was all Lance needed to guess the full story.

“Not dead, exiled... Funny,” he mumbled tiredly, shuffling past the hover-bike and letting Klammer lay him down in the back of the hover-truck instead. Molly came behind them, holding Leandro’s discarded mask in a wrinkly orange hand, and then the truck was rumbling to life and emerging back into the perpetual daylight of _Carmen IV._

Lance stared up at the three stars that he knew so well, searching for a fleet of fighter ships that he knew wouldn’t be visible from the planet surface. He felt a faint rumble in his mind that eventually registered as Red. She was apologizing, again.

“Aye, _ambita,_ I thought we were past this. It’s just you and me, girl,” he slurred out. Klammer patted him on the shoulder. He probably thought he was insane. But Lance felt happy now that he knew Red was back with him. Surely this was something he could leave behind again.

When he had first left _Carmen IV,_ he’d never intended to come back. He could just close his eyes and pretend that Magie was still hanging out at the old coffeeshop, playing a hand of poker with Klammer. That the Voltron from this reality was just off fighting the good fight, not terrorizing the Mana’Lo-ans. Not _dead._

He felt a light tapping on his cheek and cracked his eyes open, realizing they had slipped shut at some point. Lance could see Red looming over them and smiled. He sat up, careful not to jostle his thoroughly broken arm, and shoved Klammer’s offered hand away.

“Thanks, guys. Sorry for coming back. Sorry ‘bout Magie. I’ll go,” he whispered, gathering the two red bayards from the pile in the truck bed and reaching for his mask. Molly’s hand met his and gripped him tightly.

“Let us come with you, Leandro. Let us help you like you helped us.”

That was a bit too difficult for Lance to process at the moment. He felt emotionally and physically drained, so he decided to ask an unrelated question instead.

“What’s going to happen to Voltron?”

Aman’Lu answered from the front of the truck.

“I’ll stay and take care of that. Now go, and deliver your good news to my people.”

Lance didn’t feel like he had any good news, but he simply nodded his head, securing his mask over his face and resting most of his weight on Klammer. Red’s ramp was already lowered, so he limped on board without another glance back at that hellish silver desert. He hoped he was really leaving for good this time.

Lance sat in his pilot’s seat and could see Klammer and Molly each gripping a side of the headrest. Lance supposed Magie wouldn’t have fit, anyways, and then felt like he wanted to cry at the thought. _Compartmentalize. You’re in the middle of a mission right now. Finish it._ Red rumbled her agreement, though it was tinged with some sadness for her paladin.

Lance let his broken arm rest limply in his lap and activated Red’s thrusters, blasting off into space. The cockpit was silent except for Lance’s ragged breathing, but then he was inhaling sharply at the sight before him.

There was just… _nothing._

Besides the scraps from the ships Voltron had destroyed and the few Earth forces Lance and the Mana’Lo-ans had managed to destroy before the particle barrier came into play, there was nothing there. No trace of the thousands-strong fleet of Mana’Lo-ans, and none of the large Earth Empire force. Lance opened his com line and spoke with a raspy voice.

“Does anybody copy? This is Leandro, pilot of the Red Lion of _Mana’Lo,_ does anybody copy?”

There was silence for a few moments, then some buzzing, a weird crunching sound, and finally the familiar voice of Krull in his ear.

“We’re receiving you, Commander. That’s mission success. Now you fly on back, Leandro. You’re gonna have one hell of a debrief waiting for you!”

Lance released a laugh that was bordering on hysterical. He could stop worrying about everything, for now. Magie’s death, the two friends he had left behind that were coming back to _Mana’Lo_ with him, the fact that he had just murdered an alternate version of him. That he had apparently just fulfilled a prophecy and ended a war that had been ongoing for over a decade.

Lance knew that as soon as he stopped and thought about everything, he’d go insane. So as Molly ruffled his hair, Klammer punched him playfully in the shoulder, and Magie’s necklace rested with a new weight around his neck, he decided to never slow down and never look back. Red vibrated with reassurance and love, and he knew he had more people waiting for him on the other side of the star cluster.

_Just keep flying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, ya'll. I have so many things to say.
> 
> First of all, huge apologies for anyone hoping for more out of the drug-addiction side plot. It kind of got in the way of other things I wanted to happen, and I figured Lance had already suffered enough and deserved a break. Also sorry if the way I resolved it is inaccurate. I used the internet for that one.
> 
> Next, let's talk about Dark!Voltron, which I know you were probably looking forward to after all of that buildup. I hope I didn't disappoint you guys. I actually have a [list of headcanons](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/post/619973400736284672/darkbplance-headcanons) on my fresh Tumblr (@crapoftheworldblr) that might make this part make a little more sense. But, to explain it simply, BP!Lance is basically like Zarkon. He's a tyrant that none of his soldiers (besides Keith) really feel that loyal too.
> 
> Also, you don't know how much I agonized over that plot twist. I still can't decide if putting the old _Carmen IV_ gang back in there was a good idea. That wasn't part of the original plan. In fact, I technically only planned to have Lance kill off BP!Lance, but then I was like, hey, why not pile on ALL of the angst?
> 
> But there it is! You've been served! (p.s. this chapter is on the lowkey a filler chapter) This is angst, next up Ham'Ah is going to help Lance go home, and Chapter 14 will be **_t h e r e t u r n !_** WOOHOO I honestly have no clue what my writing looks like from the outside.
> 
> Go to my Tumblr for real and leave an ask, I want to talk to ya'll more!!
> 
> Love love love from my sleep deprived ass
> 
> -Crap (hehe)
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**


	13. Quit Being So Negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations, goodbyes, and the return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys and your amazing comments. I feel like a powerful wizard or something. It's random, but true. <3 Thanks for sticking around, the journey is almost at an end!!

_He was chained to a chair, sitting in the middle of the Ring. The stands were full of cheering aliens, yelling and jeering. Lance recognized them all._

_He saw friends, enemies, people he had murdered whose names he’d never learned. The paladins, looking old and wary, each with a smoking hole in their heads, were sitting in the front row. Lance could see El’Ren, the Cuban boy he had killed in Vormosa, Magie, Soldat and Krieg. His friends from _Mana’Lo_ and _Carmen IV._ He could see Allura and Coran and the paladins from his own reality, just as he remembered them. They were all staring at him, yelling his name, but Lance thought it sounded wrong._

_He tried to block out the sounds and focus. He needed to get up. He needed to go_ home. _There was someone in the Ring with him, standing just out of Lance’s field of vision. He tried to crane his neck to see who it was, but he could only make out a blur of black._

_A loud, obnoxious laugh rose above the noises of the crowd, bouncing around the stadium. Lance knew who it was. He felt a familiar rage, a curdling hatred rising from somewhere deep inside of him._

He started violently struggling in his bindings, desperate to get out. Lance wanted to fight, wanted to feel something in his hands and destroy it. He wanted to choke the life out of the strange caricature of himself that was dancing around in his peripheral vision.

_But the crowd was getting louder along with the horrible laughter, and Lance felt trapped and helpless. There weren’t any bayards. Nobody in the crowd was coming to help him. He’d already killed them all._

_Their voices became louder and louder, all-encompassing. If he weren’t chained to the chair, Lance would’ve been curled up in a ball, covering his ears. Everything hurt._

“Leandro!”

_Suddenly the Black Paladin was right in front of him, facial expression mirroring Lance’s exactly. Except the alternate version of Lance had crimson dripping from his mouth and nose. And a large hole in his chest plate where Lance had stabbed him._

_Lance screamed and thrashed when the Black Paladin put a hand on his shoulder, smiling as if he were looking at a child or a cute puppy._

“Leandro.”

_The world around him started to blur, like a Zip-induced hallucination, but then it came back into focus and Lance was standing on the Mana’Lo-an training grounds. The wailing crowd was gone, but the Black Paladin was still right in front of him, wielding his scimitars. Lance was no longer chained to a chair._

_He stumbled, disoriented and weaponless, rubbing the tears from his eyes and trying to locate anything that he could use. The usual array of training weapons were not present, and Lance knew he was running out of time when the Black Paladin came charging at him with an angry cry._

“Leandro, wake up.”

_Lance acted on reflexes, bringing up his forearms to block the Black Paladin’s strikes. The scimitars cut through his flesh, getting lodged in the bone, and Lance was in absolute agony. He knew he was screaming even as his counterpart yanked on the swords and pulled Lance along with them._

_Then they were face to face, the Black Paladin smiling sweetly and showing a flash of his blood-stained teeth. He whispered directly in Lance’s ear._

_“Solo eres un reemplazo lamentable. Eres débil.”_

_Lance couldn’t see through the tears in his eyes anymore. He could feel his mouth moving, but he wasn’t sure if he was actually saying anything, and he could feel one of the Black Paladin’s hands on his shoulder, gently shaking him._

“Leandro, you’re having a nightmare. _Wake up!_ "

Lance bolted upright, immediately clawing at the sweat-soaked sheet that he was all tangled up in. Before he had fully taken in his surroundings he was yanking the serrated blade he kept stashed under his pillow out and holding it to the neck of whoever had been shaking his shoulder.

“Dude, take it easy! It’s Ham’Ah!”

Lance froze, staring at the blurry figure before him. He quickly brought up one arm to rub at his eyes, realizing they were still full of tears, and then glanced back up. Sure enough, the red Mana’Lo-an was standing right in front of him, looking somewhat alarmed and a little bit concerned. Once she knew Lance recognized her, she gently pushed the knife away from her throat, and Lance dropped it, clutching at his hair and hunching over himself.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. But Leandro… that’s the third nightmare this week! I’m pretty sure everyone in the palace could feel the fear coming off of you. I really think you should--”

“I don’t need to see anyone! I’m fine,” Lance said brusquely, hopping out of bed and pulling on a shirt. Bo was right behind Ham’Ah. She’d probably gone to get the Mana’Lo-an when she noticed Lance was having a nightmare. _Traitor._

“Fine, but don’t take it out on Sin Rabo, alright? She’s the most loyal beast I’ve ever seen. And put on something other than your military uniform! Did you forget that the ceremony’s today?”

As a matter of fact, he had. After the fight on _Mana’Lo,_ Lance had immediately been taken to the hospital to have his arm treated. Molly and Klammer had been taken away for interrogation.

Lance was very… uncooperative, refusing to go into a healing pod. The doctors assured him that the rest of the Mana’Lo-an ships had returned unscathed, but eventually gave up and put his broken arm in a cast and sling, and then Lance was leaving, heading straight for the meeting rooms on the other side of the palace. When he stormed into the Ruby Room, several pairs of eyes turned towards him.

One of the space squadron leaders was in the middle of speaking, probably detailing exactly what had gone down during the mission that had only lasted seven vargas. Lance recognized three other squadron leaders, Kur’In, Krull, and Queen Vana’Lu herself. He wanted answers, _right the fuck now._

“Leandro, I really think you should--”

“Where are Molly and Klammer?”

“They’re in holding cells,” Kur’In started, but quickly backpedaled when he no doubt sensed the rage boiling in Lance’s stomach. “But only temporarily. We just needed to ask some questions, as a precaution. They’ll be released as soon as this meeting concludes.”

Lance let it go for now, as long as they were safe.

“How did the other ships get back?”

Krull answered this question, sharing an uneasy glance with Vana’Lu that Lance ignored.

“Saf’A was just telling us about that, actually. When you and Voltron landed on _Carmen IV,_ a strong signal was projected into space, disrupting the Earth Empire’s particle barrier and allowing our ships to escape. The signal, whatever it was, apparently locked all of the ships into a course leading them back to their planets of origin and blocked all weapons systems.”

“It was Aman’Lu.”

The room went quiet, each Mana’Lo-an sharing a look that Lance didn't understand the meaning of. Vana’Lu was the first to speak.

“That makes sense, I suppose. When my brother was exiled, he left with a fully-outfitted ship. And he was smart enough to use the ship’s components and do something like that. But why--”

“Look, I appreciate that Aman’Lu betrayed you by not warning you of the Earth’s attack twelve years ago. But back on _Carmen IV,_ he helped me! He saved Bo’s life. He sent me here to help you. And he saved my life just now. I left him back there, with Voltron.”

“We know, Leandro. Klammer and Molly helped us fill in some of the blanks of what went down on _IV._ Alpha and Beta Squadrons have already been dispatched to oversee the deconstruction of the lions,” Kur’In said, and Lance whipped around to face his former superior.

“You sent _Alpha?_ ” he asked incredulously. He was planning on leaving _Mana’Lo,_ leaving the entire reality, as soon as possible. As far as he knew, he’d never get to see Tureg and Ja’Ni again.

“I’m sorry. You of all people should know that Alpha Squadron was the best suited for that job. We’re trying to end a _war_ here, Leandro.”

After that meeting, Lance had been forced to sit through a private debriefing with Krull, Kur’In, and Vana’Lu, and afterward, he had to participate in the many peace talks that began between _Mana’Lo_ and the Earth Empire.

One of the Earth leaders that had been attending those meetings was a woman Lance recognized from his own reality -- Admiral Sanda. She and several other high-ranking government officials (and a few more Galaxy Garrison officers that Lance vaguely recognized) remained the picture of military indifference throughout all negotiations, easily agreeing to move their troops out of Mana’Lo-an territory and to remove trading sanctions.

As far as he could tell, Earth was entirely willing to end this war, and on Mana’Lo-an terms no less. Lance found that after so long without hearing human voices, he absolutely despised the cadence and the harshness of the syllables. Mana’Lo-an speech was so much smoother and less grating. 

The only part of any of the negotiations Lance had actually been interested in was when the topic turned to Voltron. More specifically, the motivation behind the Black Paladin’s actions. (Lance was grateful that he’d put his mask back on for the meeting.)

“We should discuss a trade, should we not, Admiral? We have many human prisoners of war, and we would be perfectly willing to release them in exchange for the return of our own. We know that many Mana’Lo-ans have been taken prisoner during this war,” Vana’Lu said, clasping her hands in her lap and looking like the picture of diplomacy.

They’d just finished discussing the conditions of Earth’s surrendering of Mana’Lo-an territory on _Carmen IX,_ and despite it being the third peace talk, the issue of POWs had never come up. It was clear that the Admiral was avoiding the topic.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Queen Vana’Lu. The Earth Empire has taken no prisoners during this war. Our soldiers have been ordered to kill on sight for the duration of this conflict.”

Lance looked back to Vana’Lu on the other side of the table. Her advisor had leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and Vana’Lu was staring intently at Admiral Sanda. It was an expression Lance recognized -- the queen was trying to see into the human’s mind. She didn’t seem happy with what she found.

“Voltron. What did they do?”

The admiral grimaced, but eventually nodded her head.

“The Green Paladin, Katie Holt. She found a way to use… various body parts. She could convert them directly into pure energy. She called it--”

“Quintessence.”

Everyone in the room turned to Lance. It was the first time the had spoken at any of these peace talks. The admiral gave him a strange look but continued nonetheless.

“Yes, quintessence. According to research that she compiled with her father and brother, Samuel and Matthew Holt, the energy was present in all living things. But her method of extracting it directly from organs… it was a stronger, more raw form. Hunk Garrett worked with the Holts as well. They used that energy to power Voltron, and it is rumored the Black Paladin even… injected some directly into himself. I’m afraid all of your missing Mana’Lo-ans will be accounted for if we recovered Ms. Holt's meticulous records of her experiments.”

Anger simmered in the room. Lance could feel it, knew a lot of it was coming off of him.

“You knew this was happening? And you stood by and allowed them to do it? They were harvesting organs from animals and aliens! I can’t fucking believe you would be so--”

“Leandro, put your weapon away,” Vana’Lu said, raising her voice in a threatening way. Lance hadn’t realized he’d summoned the twin red bayards, which formed a wicked sickle in his free hand. “I think it would be best if you left for now.”

“Right. Uh… sorry,” Lance mumbled, standing and shuffling towards the door with as much dignity as he could muster. He heard Vana’Lu continue to address the Admiral as he left.

“While I agree with Leandro that such heinous war crimes are in no way acceptable, I firmly believe that moving past this is necessary. I do not want to keep fighting this war, Admiral. You _will_ pay for the lives of my people that you allowed to be dissected for your war effort. And...”

Lance wasn’t invited back to any more of the peace talks after that. He didn’t mind, though. He got to spend more time with Ham’Ah and Molly and Klammer. At night, he and Klammer snuck off into the city and usually ended up at the bar. (Even though Lance had sworn off of drugs, as soon as he was off of the meds Ham’Ah had prescribed for him, he was back at the bar downing a mug of beer.) Some nights, when they all got a light buzz going, they talked about what had happened while Lance was gone.

After he left _Carmen IV,_ there had been a power vacuum in Reifen. With Krieg out of the picture, the Anbauen lost their authority, and many of the crooks that had been forced into the Ring rebelled. The rebellion had spread to Nagel, where Molly’s bar had been burned to the ground. Zug’s crew, which Magie had been leading after Lance went away, along with Molly and Klammer, all left and headed to a city that was further away until things settled down.

They stayed there for a while, Klammer claiming that once he sobered up he became ‘something of a legend himself’ (which caused Lance to snort). After some time, Aman’Lu had come to them, claiming that Lance would come back and need their help. Klammer talked about how they hadn’t believed the alien until he revealed that he knew Leandro was really the Red Paladin of Voltron, a human. So Molly, Klammer, Magie, and the crew followed Aman’Lu back to Reifen, helped him construct a weird radio tower, and then set their plan in motion when they saw Voltron descending into the atmosphere of _Carmen IV._

Klammer and Molly had probably already told the whole story during their interrogations, Lance was glad to finally know what happened. He wondered how much of the battle Aman’Lu had foreseen. If he had known Magie was going to die.

Back in the present day, Lance had a very busy week ahead of him. Today there would be a ceremony in his honor, and tomorrow Lance would meet with Ham’Ah and the other scientists for an official briefing on their findings. He was looking forward to the latter more than the former.

Nevertheless, he followed Ham’Ah’s advice and grabbed his Mana’Lo-an formal wear from the closet, which wasn’t hard because Lance owned a total of three outfits. The formal wear was just the royal livery that Lance had seen most of the royal advisors wearing. There were a few medals and ribbons attached to his lapel, awards he had received for past missions. Vana’Lu had insisted that he be fitted for a formal outfit for the last Mana’Lo-an ball he had attended. That had been a few phoebs ago.

A couple of vargas later, Lance found himself being marched around, first to stand in front of a crowd of feasting Mana’Lo-ans to receive his medals of honor, and then to sit at the head of the main table, across from Vana’Lu. There were festivities, too.

Lance took a liking to a strange Mana’Lo-an game that reminded him of bocce ball. After a few drinks, Lance and Klammer were laughing as they watched Kur’In try his best to flirt with Molly. Ham’Ah was even at the party, at Lance’s insistence, and she tried to teach Lance a few Mana’Lo-an dances.

It was a fun night, even if Lance didn’t feel like he deserved all of the medals weighed down his jacket. At least he could appreciate that the ceremony was also a celebration of Mana’Lo-an freedom and the end of the Twelve Deca-Phoebs War. That was something he could get behind.

A few days later, Ham’Ah brought him back to the lab to show Lance what she had been working on. When Ham'Ah said 'official briefing,' she had really meant that she would be speaking while a few other people were in the room. Those few colleagues were milling about, and there was a large contraption covered in a tarp in the middle of the lab. Lance had seen it uncovered while Ham’Ah was working on it before, but he left her to her theatrics.

“Basically, we had to isolate the energy in your blood and locate its original reality by deconstructing it and extracting traces of quintessence. Then, we had to figure out a way to artificially produce that same energy so that we could replicate the process that originally sent you here. Which was difficult, as you can imagine, because we don’t have magic.”

Lance nodded, following along easily enough. He suspected Ham’Ah was dumbing it down for him, but he really didn’t mind. She marched over to the device in the middle of the room and ripped the tarp off with a flourish, revealing a glowing, smaller version of the dick cannon.

“Here it is! I’m calling it Blippity-Bloppity-Trans-Reality-inator.” (Lance heard some sounds of dissent from the other scientists, which Ham’Ah ignored.) “Let me show you how it works.”

She grabbed a pen out of another Mana’Lo-an’s coat pocket and placed it in front of the device. Then she went back over to a monitor on the side, tapping in some commands.

“Because of the way the original energy blast worked on you, our machine can easily transport things to other realities,” she said, pushing a button that made a noise that sounded suspiciously like Ham'Ah's recorded voice saying 'blippity-bloppity.' The button caused the cannon to power up with a high-pitched whirring sound. “But it’s more difficult to transport things back to their original reality after they've already traveled. There are more specific conditions in which I’ve theorized that can occur. Goggles!”

All of the scientists pulled goggles out from… somewhere, and Lance already had his mask on, so he was safe. Ham’Ah counted down, and when she reached ‘one’ a jagged burst of energy came out of the end of the cannon, striking the pen. It vibrated for a second, then looked kind of like it melted into the table, disappearing. The laser powered down.

“Uh, Ham’Ah, are you sure that pen is in a new reality? Because to me, it looks like you just obliterated it.”

“Leandro, I’ve been working on this for almost a year now! We’ve tested it by using special energy waves that only register in-- you know what, I can already sense you zoning out! It’s science, dude. Just trust me on this.”

“Fine,” Lance replies, rolling his eyes. He hoped she could sense _that,_ too. “So does that mean you can send me back to my reality right now?”

Ham’Ah glanced at the other scientists in the room, who silently got up and left the lab. When they were alone, Ham’Ah spoke again, wringing her hands.

“Not exactly... You know what I was saying about specific conditions for sending you home? We’ll need to do it on the exact date that you were originally shot into our reality.”

Lance didn’t know why Ham’Ah was getting so upset about this. According to the calendar in Red, he still had a week before that anniversary. _The timing couldn’t be more perfect._

“I know, Leandro, I just... The machine isn’t done, alright? It’s going to cause the same excruciating pain that I’m sure you went through the first time around, and on top of that, I was hoping you would stick around so I could help figure out how to flush the dark energy out of your system. It still shows up in your blood tests and it’s almost been twenty phoebs since you were exposed! I don’t know what it’s doing to you aside from the panic attacks you described! If you just stay for another deca-phoeb, we can--”

“I can’t stay for another _year,_ Ham’Ah! I don’t know how long it’s been in my reality, but Voltron needs the red lion! While I was here fighting your war, my friends were back home losing theirs!” Lance took a calming breath, trying to relax. He knew he’d had a much shorter fuse as of late. “If I can go back now, I’m going to.”

Ham’Ah looked disappointed, but not surprised. She knew him well enough to predict his response -- she probably didn’t even need to use her telepathy.

“I know, Leandro. You’re a good guy. But that gives you only eight quintants to get your shit settled, alright? You just do what you have to do, and I’ll make sure everything’s ready.”

Lance appreciated that his friend wasn’t going to try to fight him on this. This should’ve been an exciting moment. He was finally going home. But it felt bittersweet. He had never imagined that he would end up having so much to lose again.

“Thanks, Ham’Ah. I’ll see you around, then.”

***

“Okay, do you have all of the food crates?”

“Yeah.”

“Water?”

“Yes.”

“First aid kit?”

“Right here.”

“The spare ti’ka parts for Red?”

“Uh huh.”

“All of your clothes and stuff? Both bayards?”

“Yup.”

“Okay… do you have--”

“This is the fifth time we’ve checked, Molly! I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything.”

The older alien frowned, looking around the cockpit again, probably trying to find something that was missing.

“I just wish you would listen to Ham’Ah and stay for a bit longer. I came all the way to this planet for you, you know.”

Lance rolled his eyes as he and Molly stepped back out of Red, heading to the mess hall.

“You and I both know you were just dying to get off of _Carmen,_ and we both know that this trip has been _very_ rewarding for you,” he added, poking Molly in the ribs. Ever since the ceremony, it had been very clear to anyone with eyes that Molly and Kur’In were a thing. Lance was happy for them. They were good for each other.

“Well, Ham’Ah’s going to figure out a way to communicate with you once you’re gone, alright?”

“You’re damn right, she will!” Klammer called from their usual table in the back of the mess hall. Now that Klammer was sober, he didn’t seem to have any trouble making fast friends with the Mana’Lo-ans. Lance recognized a few of the aliens sitting at the table, but not all.

Ham’Ah wasn’t there, probably working feverishly in the lab. As Lance and Molly lined up to grab food trays, he grabbed an extra one. There was only one day until the launch. Molly gave him a knowing look as he shrugged apologetically and trekked back up to the palace lab.

He pushed through the door and found Bo curled up next to Ham’Ah, who was bent over a computer. It looked like it was running a simulation.

“Ham’Ah--”

“Thanks,” she said immediately, quickly grabbing the tray of food from him and shoveling it into her mouth.

“Look, there’s something important I need to ask you.”

“Uh huh,” the scientist replied absentmindedly as she continued tapping keys on her keyboard.

“You said it was going to hurt, right?”

Lance got another nod in response.

“I want you to keep Bo.”

Ham’Ah paused in what she was doing and whipped around to face Lance at the same time Bo perked up at the mention of her name.

“Leandro, Sin Rabo is the only cosmic wolf in this reality that we know of. She’s incredibly loyal to you and I know you love her more than anyone else on this planet. Why the hell would you want to leave her here?”

“I don’t want her to get hurt, okay? When I first got shot… and the scars I have… I just don’t want that for her. She’s done so much for me, the least I can do is spare her this. And she likes you too, you know. Maybe not as much as _me,_ ” he said, getting a light punch to the chest, “But I know she’ll be happy with you. _Mana'Lo_ is at peace now. I’m going back to a war.”

Ham’Ah stared at Lance for a few more seconds, evaluating. Finally, she sighed.

“Your reasoning is sound, at least… Big day tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathed out as he bent over to pet Bo. She rolled onto her back, ready for belly rubs. The fact that he was going to leave her behind hadn’t really sunk in yet. Then again, he was leaving all of the Mana’Lo-ans and Molly and Klammer behind, too.

“Big day.”

***

The scene before him was a familiar one, albeit Ham’Ah’s freaky machine was positioned in front of Red out in the field. The Mana’Lo-ans were gathered around just as they had been at the launch for the final battle. Vana’Lu had given another speech, once again thanking Lance for his service. Ham’Ah, Bo, Krull, Kur’In, Molly, and Klammer were all standing right in front of him. Lance chose to ignore the tears in their eyes, lest they appear in his own. He’d chosen not to wear his mask for this.

All of Alpha Squadron, including the new members, and even Vin, were present via holographic calls. Lance thought he could even see Aman’Lu.

He’d already said his goodbyes, left some video messages to be viewed at later dates by his friends. He was ready to go home. According to Red’s calendar, the date was October 23. He knew he’d probably start feeling that panic again, the one Ham’Ah said was some side effect of the residual druid magic in his blood.

“We’ll be in constant communication for this, okay? You just relax in the cockpit and I’ll take care of everything!” Ham’Ah yelled over the cheering crowd. Next to her, Bo’s ears were drooping on her head. She looked sad. Lance wished she wouldn’t be. All he’d ever done was shoot her tail off all of those months ago. She’d be happy here, far away from the hellish war Lance was willingly returning to.

He remembered when he told her to stay. It should’ve been like any of the other aerial combat missions he’d left her behind on, but Bo was too smart. She knew this time was different, and it hurt Lance to see her so upset.

“You better take good care of Bo! And Kur’In? You’d better take good care of Molly! Although I don’t have to threaten you because Molly could kill you herself. Klammer, see you around, pal. And to the rest of you, it was an honor serving with you. I hope this time of peace will be a long and prosperous one for _Mana’Lo!_ ”

Vana’Lu had come to his chambers in the morning and requested that he say something inspirational before he left. Ham’Ah had helped him brainstorm that line. The Mana’Lo-ans apparently needed a morale boost since their hero was leaving, and it looked like he had done the job. The cheering grew to a fever pitch, and with one last wave at his friends, Lance turned and made his way up the ramp. Red greeted him.

He’d already discussed this with Red, that she was about to be hurt. She was just as desperate to return to Voltron as he was, though. Just as willing to take the pain. Ma’Ro had claimed that the ti’ka parts they had installed in Red would be more sturdy than the old machinery they were replacing and that Red would have a better chance of recovering quickly from the blast of dark energy. Lance hoped he was right.

As he plopped down in the pilot’s chair, the coms fizzled to life and he could hear Ham’Ah’s voice.

“How’s it going in there, trans-reality traveler?”

“Just peachy.”

“Great. I’m starting to charge the machine up. I’ll give you the countdown from sixty ticks.”

“Thanks, Ham’Ah. And not just for this, you know? For everything. Saving my life, helping me with the drugs, being my friend. Sorry I couldn’t--”

“We’ve literally had this conversation before, dude. Stop thanking me. You’re my brother, forever and always. _I’m_ sorry that you’re so uncomfortable with someone doing nice things for you just because they want to. When you get back to wherever you came for, you better not take anyone’s shit, Leandro. Sixty.”

Lance laughed, wiping tears from his eyes that had finally started falling. He could feel his chest constricting, and an uneasy feeling roiling in his gut. It was almost beginning.

By the time Ham’Ah was at forty, he was hyperventilating.

“I know there’s not much I can do about this. But you’re doing great, Leandro. Just hang in there. Thirty-seven.”

The cockpit felt small. Small, and still shrinking. He wanted to leave, to get out, but he was glued to his seat. He couldn’t make sense of the numbers Ham’Ah was saying. The fear was completely debilitating.

“F-fuck, Ham’Ah?”

“Hey, I’m here. I’m sorry. We’re T-minus twenty ticks, alright?”

Lance tried to relax. The numbers grew smaller. Lance felt more tears streaming down his eyes. He had a death-grip on the armrests.

“Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.”

Lance smelled the freon first. Then he saw the cloud of red and finally, Sin Rabo, standing in his cockpit and looking extremely worried. Bo. Was standing in the cockpit.

“No, _nonononono!_ Bo, get out of here! _Por favor,_ Sin Rabo, come on!”

The wolf just hunkered down, wrapping her body around the base of the pilot’s chair and bracing herself. She knew what was going to happen. Lance was crying. He couldn’t breathe. Bo was going to _die._ She wasn’t supposed to be here, she should’ve stayed with Ham’Ah.

“Leandro, are you with me? What’s happening?”

Lance couldn’t respond. He couldn’t think. The world was collapsing around him, he was shrinking. Infinitesimally small. Paralyzed by the crushing fear that he could lose everything in a split second. _Why was he here again?_

“Leandro, the shot is coming five ticks, okay? Can you hear me? Leandro! Something’s wrong, we need to--”

The bolt of black energy exploded out of the apparatus positioned in front of Red as Lance instinctively scooped Bo into his arms, shielding her body with his own. Lance found the odd familiarity of the scene comforting in a way he couldn’t quite pin down, but then the pain was spiking through his body, drawing an agonized scream from him.

He felt like he was being ripped apart, felt hot tears trailing down his cheeks and blood seeping through his shirt. The cockpit was hotter than the silver desert of _Carmen IV,_ and Lance was sure they were two seconds away from dying. Bo was still in his arms, and he was afraid that she was dead.

When the burning sensation relented, he cracked his eyes open and Bo jumped off of his lap, rubbing up against his side. Her coat was covered in blood, and he couldn’t tell if it was his own or the wolf’s. Red’s dashboard was glowing with warning signs, but all of her systems were still operational. Ma’Ro had been right about the ti’ka ore holding up. _But did that mean…?_

“Lance, _shit,_ answer me! Are you okay?”

More sounds began filtering back in through Lance’s ringing ears. Explosions, lasers, six familiar voices yelling directions, yelling for _Lance,_ not Leandro.

He peered out of the windshield and saw the dick cannon floating right in front of him. He saw Blue tearing into a Galra cruiser with the help of the yellow lion, and Green was weaving around with five Galra fighters on her tail, the black lion picking them off.

He was back in the middle of the battle that he had been in exactly two years ago. No time had passed in this reality. They hadn’t been struggling for two years, unable to form Voltron. They had been fighting the same Galra unit. At the most, it had been two minutes for them.

Bo nudged Lance’s hand, and he realized that he had been sitting there, staring at the dick cannon as if he were under the influence of the hypnotic voice of a Mana’Lo-an. He quickly grabbed Red’s controls and jumped into the fight, a blank expression slipping over his face as he efficiently demolished any Galra in between himself and the dick cannon. Two years ago, it would have been a grin.

“I’m back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broooo one chapter left what??? This is insane!! 60.9K words and a 150 page Google Doc! My baby is home!! We're almost there, friends! AHHHHHH
> 
> Haha bet you thought I was leaving Bo behind. You got punk'd, son!
> 
> Also, I tried to leave it open ended as to whether he could ever get into contact with the alternate reality again. Like, maybe Ham'Ah will figure something out. But I haven't decided if that's going to happen or not, so yeah. Up in the air. But it _could_ happen, if I wanted it to. The seeds have been sewn, so to speak.
> 
> Other quick clarification: Lance only took the other red bayard. The rest were left behind.
> 
> Please ignore all of the bullshit science LOL
> 
> Tumblr: [@crapoftheworldblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/)


	14. In Hindsight, We'll Die Anyways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance returns to his own reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance finally gets to see Keith? Impossible! Also, you'll probably recognize some of this chapter’s dialogue from the episode “The Colony” (thank you whoever put the transcript on the VLD wiki, you are a god).
> 
> Hey, also don't yell at me that the team doesn't really get to react yet. Lance is immediately thrown into action and there's NO TIME TO EXPLAIN!! We're getting more bonding and PTSD in the next work in this series.
> 
> In case you don’t remember what was happening all the way in Chapter 1, here’s exactly what I wrote in the notes there (LOL): “Keith is currently in the abyss with his mom and Clone Shiro is all up in the Castle biz. I kind of fucked up the canon timeline some, but basically the fight scene that this fic opens on is happening instead of Lotor and Allura entering the quintessence field in S6E4 ("The Colony"). Everything after that will probably only loosely follow canon, if at all.”
> 
> There you go. Happy reading, buckaroos.

A chorus of relieved sighs answered Lance, but he ignored them in favor of listening to Red. He closed his eyes, easily seeing through his lion’s as he used Red’s heat beam, melting the ion cannon off of a Galra cruiser that was aiming for him.

Lance wasn’t particularly affected by being surrounded by his old friends again. He felt like he didn’t belong with them, like there was an unbreachable distance between him and each of the paladins. It didn’t help that he couldn’t _feel_ them like he used to. Lance wondered if Red could still feel her sisters, but the lion’s growl told him she was in the same boat as him.

Bo was still in the cockpit, snuffling pitifully, and Lance paused for a moment after taking down two Galra fighters to look down at her and watch her earnest, violet eyes. He’d never forgotten that one stupid thought from so long ago, one he’d even mentioned to Klammer after a night of drinks.

The stars were twinkling as if they had always been there, forever. Lance could see them reflected in Bo’s eyes, and the sight was more beautiful than anything he had pictured in his mind. He’d forgotten what stars looked like, that there were more than two or three of them in some realities.

Lance had spent many nights on the observation deck back when he first became a permanent Castle Ship resident, just gazing at them. Looking for shapes and wondering at the seemingly endless supply. But now Lance knew that he hadn’t properly appreciated them.

Because he’d always stared at the stars and never realized that they were staring right back at him.

Red had missed the stars too, but there was something she missed even more. And that was ripping Galra ships to shreds. Lance appreciated that after everything they’d gone through, nothing could tame Red’s flames. Her impulsiveness. Her spirit that Lance finally understood. _It had only taken him two years._

“We need to take out that druid ship! I don’t want to see anyone else take a hit like Lance did,” Shiro called out from Black, and Lance growled.

“It’s mine, Shiro.”

Lance was angry. It came to him easily now. Red’s jaws violently clamped shut, crushing the wings of two Galra fighters as she whipped her tail around, shooting three more fighters in quick succession. There was only one more Galra cruiser between him and the dick cannon.

“Lance, I’m pinned down! Wait for backup! Pidge and Shiro are surrounded, we should regroup. Allura’s on the other side of the Castle Ship and Coran said--”

Lance switched the coms off as he and Red burst out of the other side of the Galra cruiser they had just barreled through. The resulting explosion rocked the ship, causing Bo to whimper from her spot on the ground. _Shit._

Lance had been hoping the blood on Bo’s fur was just his, but the slowly expanding puddle beneath the wolf told him otherwise. Lance could tell his own shirt was fully saturated with blood as well. They weren’t in the best shape. Definitely not fighting-the-druids-that-shot-me-into-a-new-reality shape.

“Hang in there, _chica._ ”

Red was vibrating with anticipation as they cleared out a few straggling Galra fighters. The other paladins were still embroiled in a fight behind them, but that didn’t matter right now. As Lance stared down the giant dick cannon, he didn’t feel the fear that he’d felt the first time he’d seen it. He didn’t feel the impassivity that he had grown into during his final weeks on _Mana’Lo._ He felt cold, hard rage.

Lance slammed his bayard into the port at Red’s insistence. They’d never done it before without Voltron, but the giant railgun that materialized on top of his lion was somehow not surprising to Lance. It was like he had known it was there all along.

He activated the advanced scanner that Ma’Ro had installed on Red, immediately identifying all of the structurally unstable points of the ship and easily targeting them, even as the druids appeared to start charging another shot. Lance could feel the pull of something inside of him, like he was drawn to it. He could also feel the creeping tendrils of fear again and knew he’d have to make this fast. For himself, and for Bo.

Despite all of the buildup and the fact that this was supposed to be Lance’s revenge, two years in the making, it wasn’t a very interesting battle. However the Galra had designed the ship, it was clearly built to fire devastatingly powerful shots. Basic defenses and maneuverability were woefully neglected in the design.

So as Hunk and Allura finished off the last of the fighters, Coran used the Castle Ship’s defenses to help Pidge out of a tight spot, and Shiro worked on disarming the final operational ion cannons, Lance and Red zipped forwards, darting around the druid ship and hitting all of their targets.

Lance could feel the force of the explosions rippling through space and he saw the dick cannon slowly cease its pulsing purple glowing and fade. Several escape pods launched from the powered-down ship, but Lance couldn’t spare the time to chase each one down individually. Bo needed help.

He switched his coms back on as he turned Red around, heading back towards the Castle Ship. The angry lectures from Allura and Shiro that he was met with made him immediately regret turning his coms back on.

“Lance, you’re _never_ to terminate communications with the team during a battle! As the Red Paladin, you are supposed to support the team, not jeopardize it and yourself!”

“Hunk told you to wait! Going alone was extremely reckless and not worth the risk! You could’ve been shot again, for God’s sake!”

“Speaking of, are you sure you’re alright, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Pidge spoke up, “Green’s readings of the energy from that blast were off the charts! And I can’t quite put my finger on it, but your lion definitely looks different.”

“Oh yeah, I can totally see it! It’s a darker shade of red now,” Hunk added, sounding more excited than worried.

“Look, guys, just shut up and listen to me! I have someone aboard my ship who’s going to need immediate medical attention. But she can’t go in a healing pod, okay, Coran?”

“What do you mean there’s someone on your ship? Is it a druid? When did--”

“Pidge, now is not the time! Coran, did you hear me?”

“The infirmary’s being prepped as we speak, Number Three!”

Lance sighed as he and Red landed in his hangar. They were the last to return to the Castle, and apparently the rest of the paladins had seen fit to wait for him in Red’s hangar. He supposed he had been acting pretty conspicuous since he got back. But he really wasn’t looking forward to explaining… well, anything. He hated thinking about everything on his own, much less talking to other people about it.

But Lance couldn’t take his time composing himself. He had a space wolf in need of some first aid. She didn’t look like she wanted to move, so Lance ignored his own cuts as he bent over and picked Bo up, carrying her bridal style. She seemed extremely out of it, like she was barely conscious. Maybe that was a good thing for now. The last time she’d seen a human she’d ripped their throat out.

Lance thanked Red as she lowered her ramp, and then he was taking in the interior of the Castle Ship for the first time in _two years._

“Lance? What the heck are you wearing, dude? Is that a mask?”

“Wait, what’s that in your arms?”

“Yeah… and what’s up with your lion? Did that druid blast give her a new paint job and also _supercharge her?_ I’ve never seen you fight like that!”

“Not exactly,” Lance said wearily, not directing his answer at a specific person. He felt awkward under the assessing gazes of his old friends as he stumbled down the ramp, nearly toppling over thanks to a combination of Bo’s weight and his own dizziness due to blood loss.

“Fuck! Lance, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s not mine,” he lied quickly. He knew it was a mixture of his own blood and Bo’s, but they didn’t have time to waste on useless details. “Bo needs help.”

“Who the hell is Bo?”

“Uh-- It’s a long story! Just help me with her,” he said, looking down meaningfully at the fluffy lump in his arms.

Hunk seemed to get the idea, rushing forward to help Lance with the 250-pound wolf.

“Seriously, dude. When did you put on the new clothes? And why do you seem… bigger?”

As soon as Hunk was helping him, he picked up the pace, practically sprinting down the hall. His footfalls echoing in the Castle hall brought back waves of nostalgia. Hunk was struggling to keep up beside him and Pidge was right on their heels -- Lance assumed Allura and Shiro would be along in a bit.

“There’s no time for that right now, Hunk!”

They burst into the med bay, Hunk and Lance carefully lowering Bo’s prone body onto a clean table while Coran quickly assessed the situation, adopting an authoritative demeanor as he asked Pidge for various Altean ointments and medical supplies while tending to the wolf.

At first, Coran had wanted to shave her so he could get a better look at the injuries, which Lance knew were a mess of cuts like the fresh ones that were sluggishly bleeding on his chest and back, but Bo had apparently been lucid enough to growl. Coran quickly put away the shears.

The Altean finished wrapping bandages around Bo’s leg and declared that she would be fine for the time being. From the surreptitious glances Hunk was shooting at him, Lance knew the Yellow Paladin could tell that he was hurt too, but before the topic could be brought up Shiro finally stepped into the med bay.

“Lotor wanted something with Allura so she went to the Sincline hangar… what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Lance, who inexplicably found time to change his entire wardrobe and acquire a gravely wounded wild animal?”

Everyone in the room turned towards Lance, who was starting to feel nervous under the pressure of so many pairs of eyes. A crowd of Mana’Lo-ans he could handle, but he’d grown wary of humans from his time in Alpha Squadron. It was scary how those feelings still extended to the people that were supposed to be his friends. Lance preferred the slight unease to the murderous rage from the Ring, though. He preferred it to the memories of what he’d done to a different incarnation of Voltron.

Lance hadn’t really had any time to think through how this reunion would go. In daydreams it was a giant group hug and tears of joy. In nightmares, he had been replaced and Voltron didn’t recognize him anymore. But Lance hadn’t imagined a scenario like this one, where the team didn’t even know he’d been gone in the first place. He supposed that was as good of a place to start as any, though.

As Lance opened his mouth to explain that the beam of energy he had been hit with during the battle had actually done something other than temporarily drain Red’s power, the Castle alarm started going off and Coran was leading the charge to the bridge. Hunk shot a glare at Lance as if to say ‘this isn’t over.’

The group of paladins skidded into the bridge and gathered around the blinking display at the front of the ship.

“I've got an incoming craft,” Coran called, tapping out commands in a flurry of motion.

Shiro took charge, asking for a visual that Coran dutifully pulled up. Whatever craft it was, it looked suspiciously similar to Altean tech.

“That...that can't be. It's an Altean pod! A really old one!” Coran exclaimed. >em>Maybe I should consider a job as a space detective.

Shiro hailed the pod, and then Lance had a miniature heart attack when _Keith_ showed up on the screen, facial expression set in a determined grimace.

Some awkward greetings were thrown around, but Keith, ever one to get straight to the point, quickly moved on.

“Where’s Lotor?”

“He’s with Allura in the Sincline hangar. They probably missed the alarm because they were inside of the ship.”

A relieved look passed over his face, and Lance couldn’t really tell from the grainy video feed but he thought Keith might’ve looked a bit older than the last time he had seen him.

“Okay, _do not_ let Lotor launch that ship. I’m docking in the main hangar.”

The transmission cut off, and then Lance was following the procession of paladins to the main hangar where they all watched as Keith expertly maneuvered the Altean pod in, landing with the grace of a Mana’Lo-an.

When the hatch hissed open and Lance finally got a good look at Keith, he could confirm that there was definitely something different about the man. It had Lance immediately on edge.

“Keith, i-it's so good to see you,” Shiro stuttered out, looking entirely bewildered, but Lance wasn’t having it. Something was wrong here.

“Wait. You’re different. You’re bigger. And… older.”

“I don't have time for this, Lance!”

The weird version of Keith tried to shove past him, but Lance grabbed him by the wrist and flipped him onto his back, holding the wrist in a death-grip. He could break it in a second.

“ _You’re different,_ ” Lance snarled, annoyed by the surprised expression on Keith’s face. Like he hadn’t expected to be taken out so easily.

“Lance! What are you doing?” Shiro shouted, sounding confused and _slightly_ angry. “Let go of him!”

 _Scratch that._ Shiro was extremely angry. Lance heard footsteps behind him and quickly summoned one of his bayards, stepping over the prone body on the ground, making sure to keep his hold on Keith’s wrist as he trained his blaster on… what appeared to be a Galran and an _Altean._

“Nobody _fucking_ move until I figure out what the hell is going on here!”

“Lance, put the gun down!” Hunk yelled, sounding frantic yet unsure of what to do in this situation. Shiro echoed the sentiment.

“I can’t do that, Shiro. _Keith is different._ ”

“Lance, I can explain, just get off--”

“I’m sure you can explain just as easily from the ground,” Lance replied, the glare hidden by his mask clearly being reflected in the harsh delivery of his words.

“Let my son go.”

Lance turned in surprise, grip loosening enough for Keith to rip his wrist away and jump to his feet. It was the Galran woman who had spoken.

“ _You’re_ Keith’s mom?” Pidge asked after a moment of silence, adjusting her glasses and peering at the Galran with a new-found interest.

Shiro and Hunk were staring at the woman, shell-shocked, while Coran’s jaw dropped when his gaze fell on the Altean.

And Lance finally glanced away from Keith and the Galran to notice a _cosmic space wolf_ standing proudly beside them. It looked just like Bo, but its fur was electric blue rather than deep red. Also, if Lance wasn’t mistaken, it was a male.

“We need to stop Lotor. He's been lying to all of us!” Keith yelled, shocking everyone out of their staring contests.

“Wh-- lying about what?” Shiro asked, turning away from the woman that was apparently Keith’s mom.

“Everything!”

That had been the Altean woman. Lance knew that Coran and Allura were supposed to be the last Alteans, but after everything he had seen he wasn’t particularly surprised to learn that was not the case.

A barrage of questions came from the paladins, all of which were quickly deflected by Keith. The man was on a mission.

“I promise, I'll explain everything once we get to Lotor.”

“They aren’t planning to launch today. What’s going on, Keith?” Shiro questioned, a pleading look in his eyes.

Keith sighed, walking back to the group he had arrived with and putting a hand on the Altean’s shoulder.

“This is Romelle. And I think she should tell her own story.”

As the Altean spoke, Lance zoned out like he usually did during Mana’Lo-an peace talks. Something about a colony and quintessence harvesting. Lance had heard similar stories before. He tensed up when Keith sidled up next to him.

“You alright, Lance? That was a nice move earlier, but what gives?”

Lance turned away from the gesticulating Altean and stared at Keith. He looked different. But he didn’t look like the Keith he had killed in the alternate reality. _The most notable difference being that he didn’t have a hole in his head._

“You can never be too careful. And you look older than I thought you would be.”

“Time is different where I've been.”

Lance stifled a laugh. Keith had gone off for some amount of time and came back with his mom, an Altean, a cosmic space wolf, and the key to defeating the Galra. Lance had gone off and come back with a cosmic space wolf and some new scars. Besides Bo, Lance figured he got the raw deal.

“What’s with the mask?” Keith whispered, giving Lance a side-eye. “I thought your greatest asset was your stunningly handsome face.”

This time, Lance didn’t try to muffle his laughter, despite the glare he got from the Altean, Romelle. He’d forgotten that he and Keith used to talk like this. Had used to be _friends._

“Why’re you asking? Feel like you're missing out on something?”

“Not a chance.”

The Altean wrapped up her woeful tale and the rest of the paladins had sufficiently disgusted and or shocked reactions. Lance didn’t find himself particularly invested in the current drama of the Castle Ship.

They ran back to the bridge, where Coran requested that Allura and Lotor come meet them immediately. Lance thought that only requesting Lotor would’ve been the smarter move so they could minimize potential casualties, but then again, Allura was handy in a fight. Plus, only requesting the prince would’ve raised some alarm bells.

The doors to the bridge slid open to reveal one genocidal maniac and one princess of an apparently not-extinct civilization. They looked for all the world like they had _just_ stopped holding hands. _That’s just fucking great._

“What's going on?” Allura asked as the paladins spread into an arc, each readying their weapons, and Keith and his mother circled around to guard the rear. Lance chose to only summon one of the red bayards again. Having two red bayards would undoubtedly raise some questions.

Lotor looked surprised, glancing around at everybody, his eyes eventually settling on Lance’s mask. There was something there… some sort of recognition, maybe even respect. _But what could Lotor possibly know?_

“Allura, step away from Lotor.”

“I will do no such thing. Tell me what's happening here!” Lance had been expecting that reaction, and if he was being honest, he couldn’t blame the princess. He had done the same thing a few minutes earlier.

“Lotor is a monster, and has been harvesting Altean quintessence for generations!” Romelle yelled from behind the paladins. Lance smirked at the flash of fear that passed over Lotor’s face. _That’s better._

He watched as the scene before him unfolded, Romelle and Lotor each presenting their testimonials to Allura. Inevitably, the conclusion Allura came to was that Lotor needed to be _bodily slammed into the fucking floor._

Lance would’ve gladly finished the prince off for good, but the Castle’s warning system suddenly went off again.

“The hangar's been breached!” Coran yelled, and sure enough, the display screen showed two of Lotor’s generals infiltrating the hangar where the Sincline ships were.

“It's Lotor's troops. They're stealing the ships!”

Lance was about to sprint down the hall, ready for some _actual_ action, when Shiro abruptly dropped to his knees, clutching at his head. Some sort of conflict seemed to play out over the older man’s face, but then his features smoothed out into something dangerous. Lance took control of the situation, attempting to reign in the chaos that had erupted on the Castle Ship.

“Allura and I will secure Lotor! Hunk, help Shiro! Everyone else, get down to the hangar and stop those guys!”

As Keith, his wolf, his mother, and Pidge all sprinted for the Sincline hangar, Lance watched Shiro rise to his feet, Hunk hovering nearby. He didn’t just look dangerous. He looked _angry._

Without warning, Shiro’s eyes snapped up and he was throwing a mean punch at a surprised Hunk, sending the yellow paladin straight into Coran. He might have made a _slight_ miscalculation concerning the allocation of resources.

Lance reacted quickly to the new threat, dodging a punch thrown his way, and yelling at Allura to move and protect Romelle. Unfortunately, Lotor chose that moment to regain consciousness and he quickly knocked Allura out while she was distracted by Shiro, playing dirty with a jab to a pressure point.

Lance dodged another punch from Shiro’s Galra arm, unwilling to throw his own punches at his former leader even as he heard Romelle’s body dropping to the ground. Everyone else was down for the count. It was just Lance. Lotor was going to try to get down to the hangar, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Lance feinted left, dodging another rage-fueled swing from Shiro, and positioned himself at the doors to the bridge, slamming the locking mechanism to seal the room. Lotor stepped over the bodies of the two downed Alteans and turned on that smarmy grin that Lance despised.

“If it isn’t the Red Paladin. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you _so soon._ ”

Lance growled. He felt a familiar rage boiling in his gut as he summoned his second red bayard, forming twin scimitars in his hands. Just like himself from an alternate reality. Lance tried to ignore the unease he felt at that realization and quickly turned his bayards into the double-bladed sword instead. Shiro summoned his own bayard, forming a large sword.

“I see you brought back a souvenir from your trip.”

The Galran prince and Shiro charged, and the fighting began in earnest. It was like a beautifully choreographed dance. Lance was twisting with each hit, expertly dodging the uncoordinated attacks of his two adversaries.

Shiro fought with untamable anger and Lotor fought with a grace that was uncharacteristic of the Galra, but they were clearly not used to working in tandem. Lance parried Shiro’s sword blows and sidestepped Lotor’s moves, managing to get a few jabs in at the prince.

He accidentally grazed Shiro on his human arm, earning an angry grunt from the man. Lance used the distraction to shove Shiro backward into Lotor’s chest, sending them both crashing to the ground. He had no clue what was wrong with Shiro. He _did_ remember that Shiro had been acting weird before he had left, but fragmented memories from two years ago weren’t enough to work with.

As Shiro and Lotor both backed up to regroup, Keith’s voice came over the Castle coms.

“Lance, Hunk, can you still pilot your Lions?”

“We’re not secure in here yet. Hunk is down,” Lance huffed out. He was feeling a bit winded from what must have been a fifteen-minute two-on-one.

Keith replied that he was on his way to help, and then the transmission cut off. Lance looked from Lotor, who was wiping blood off of his cheek, towards Shiro, who was staring into the distance. He looked odd, like he was receiving orders or something… Lance wondered what had happened to him.

Lotor appeared to be ready to charge again, so Lance gripped his staff tightly in preparation, but then Shiro finally turned back toward Lance and made direct, world-shattering eye contact before uttering whatever words had just come to him.

_“Tú, tú no eres ni la chancleta de fulano. Débil.”_

The Castle Ship seemed to slow to a complete stop. Lance was frozen, standing deathly still. He felt like someone could exhale and he would crumble to dust.

“What the fuck did you just say to me? What the _fuck_ did you say?”

Lotor took advantage of Lance’s concentration breaking, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him head-first into the solid wall. Lance slid to the ground, feeling woozy and confused as he watched Shiro and Lotor smash through the door and sprint towards the hangars. Lance had failed. And Keith had been too late.

How had Shiro known those words? That had happened in another _reality._ Not here. He was home now, with Voltron. _His_ Voltron, not the paladins he had murdered in the Ring. They were all alive and breathing… but were they? Lance couldn’t feel them in his mind anymore, the paladin bond was gone. He was alone, floating through space again.

“Lance.”

He felt an insistent tapping on his shoulder and with great effort, focused his eyes. He was met with the deep violets of Keith, who looked older. He had more muscles, longer hair. He almost looked like the Keith he had seen on _Carmen IV._

“Fuck! Get away from me! I’m sorry--” Lance cried, violently shoving Keith off of him and scooting further against the wall.

“Lance, calm down. I think you have a concussion, just relax and I can--”

“No! You stay the fuck away from me! I know what you did!”

Magie was dead. Keith had killed her. And Lance had killed Keith. _Where are my bayards?_

They must have been knocked away when Lotor threw him into the wall, and his mind was too scattered to summon them without a visual, but he could see Hunk’s on the ground resting a few inches away from the Yellow Paladin’s limp hand. So he summoned it to his hand and trained a yellow blaster right in Keith’s face.

“Lance? What the fuck are you doing? How did--”

“I told you to get away from me! I’ll kill you!”

Lance felt a calm wash over him. Not the usual anger that he’d begun to fall into during fights. It was the feeling of being untouchable. He’d already done this before. He’d already killed Keith. _But that doesn’t make any sense._

Lance blinked rapidly and finally took in his surroundings. He was still on the Castle bridge. The bodies of his friends were strewn about. Unconscious, not dead. And _Keith_ was crouching in front of him. He was wearing his Blade of Marmora suit, and he looked fierce. Not scared. Not timid.

“Keith?”

The half-Galran released a sigh of relief as Lance let Hunk’s bayard fall from his hand, moving closer to check Lance for injuries. Keith looked vaguely like he was going to say something about the bayard, but eventually decided against it.

“Yeah, man. It’s Keith. Listen, we need to stop Lotor’s guys and get Shiro back, alright? Are you good to fly?”

Lance mumbled an affirmative and stood on wobbly legs, grabbing his own bayards from where they were laying behind one of the control stations and moving to help Hunk up while Keith, Krolia, and Pidge helped the Alteans.

“Then let’s go. If we're gonna fight Lotor's ships, we'll need Voltron!”

Everyone started moving towards their hangars, but Pidge didn’t move yet, still looking at Keith.

“Shiro's gone. Who's gonna pilot the Black Lion?”

Lance glanced back from where he was standing in the hallway, about to take off towards Red's hanger, in time to hear Keith’s response.

“ _I_ will.”

He grinned under his mask, making his way back down to Red. She was raring for a fight, Lance could feel the excitement simmering in the back of his mind. But for some reason, she was trying to tell Lance that he needed to wait. _What’s going on, Red?_

His question was answered when he heard footsteps echoing behind him in the hangar. Lance whipped around, sniper rifle at the ready, but it was just Keith.

“Lance.”

“Keith. Why aren’t you in Black?”

“She wouldn't let me in.”

“And you want to take Red.”

“I need to fly. I need to catch Shiro.”

Lance stared at Keith, reading his expression like an open book. Keith was worried, scared for Shiro, maybe a little glad to be back on the Castle Ship after so long. All of the emotions Lance _should_ have been feeling. Instead, he felt numb. Red was talking to Lance, telling him that it was okay. He sighed.

“Red’s alright with it.”

Lance’s voice was void of emotion. Keith stepped closer to him, frowning.

“Jesus, Lance, take that fucking mask off. I can’t read you anymore.”

“Two years will do that,” Lance replied dryly.

They stared at each other, each unwilling to step back, to give in. But eventually Keith’s hands slowly came up, coming to rest on the sides of Lance’s mask. And Lance knew he should’ve stopped him, should’ve done something, _anything,_ but he just let it happen. The mask released with a hiss, clattered to the ground, and then Keith was inhaling sharply.

“Red’s got new controls now. You won’t know how to pilot her.”

“Lance… What happened to you while I was gone?”

Keith’s fingers ghosted over the large scar over Lance’s eyebrow, down to his cheek. His thumb rested on Lance’s dry lips.

“That’s not important right now. You won’t be able to pilot Red,” he replied, staring resolutely at his boots.

“I can pilot her. You’re bigger, too. Older.”

“Keith, shut up. That doesn’t matter right--”

“You went somewhere, like me. Where time was different.”

Keith tilted his chin up gently, and Lance hesitantly met his gaze, staring helplessly. Keith’s hands were still tracing the ugly scar on Lance’s face. _He wasn’t listening._

“Remember how we were in the middle of an urgent situation? I’m telling you, you won’t be--”

Keith leaned forward, closing the distance between them and sealing their lips together. Keith was _kissing_ Lance. And even after everything Lance had been through, he was still weak for this boy. So he surrendered himself to him, letting his eyes slip shut as Keith carded his calloused fingers through Lance’s hair.

And for once, Lance _felt_ something. It was all of the synapses in his brain firing at once, all of the pent up energy in his body dissipating, all of the bad thoughts and memories fleeing from this new source of relentless, beautiful light. In that moment, Lance thought everything he had suffered might have been worth it, just for this kiss. Just for Keith.

But as suddenly as the kiss had begun, Keith was stepping back and heading up Red’s already lowered ramp, leaving Lance behind.

“I’ll be able to pilot her, Lance.”

Lance stood there for a few more seconds, dumbfounded as he watched Red take off. Keith had just… kissed him? But now he was leaving with his lion. Now he was _gone._

Then the realization hit him. _Keith had used him to get to Red._ And Lance wanted to scream. He felt like an idiot. _How could two years apart ever strengthen a bond?_

Keith had never wanted him before, not when he was just a normal teenager. And now Keith didn’t even _know_ what Lance had done. Lance had killed him. Lance didn’t belong here with Voltron. He was a murderer, a lawless mercenary.

As Lance angrily put his mask back on and made his way back onto the bridge, he heard a loud roar coming from a hangar. And it wasn’t Red’s.

_No fucking way._

Coran, Krolia, and the new Altean were all standing at the front windshield of the Castle Ship, probably watching the fight unfold. They all turned at the sound of Black’s roar, and Coran’s eyes crinkled in subdued amusement when he saw Lance standing in the doorway.

“We all heard you taking charge when Lotor’s generals were infiltrating the ship. I can’t say I’m surprised by this development,” the Altean said, twirling his mustache. When Lance didn’t make any sign that he planned on moving towards the hangar, Coran smiled fondly.

“Go on then, lad.”

So Lance went to the back of the bridge where the entrance to Black’s hangar was. When he stood before the lion, he couldn’t feel anything from her, not like he could with Red. In fact, he could still feel Red in his mind. She was happy to be fighting again.

Lance stepped forward and Black’s particle barrier immediately lowered, her eyes glowing. It was clearly an invitation, yet at the same time it felt like a curse. Lance had played at being the Black Paladin, had genuinely _wanted_ that at one point. But it was the last thing he wanted now, after what he had seen in his glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Fuck me,” Lance murmured as he climbed the ramp, trying to relax and clear his mind of any negative thoughts. The inside of Black was larger than Red. Less familiar, somehow. Nevertheless, when he sat down in the pilot’s seat the dashboard lit up.

He still couldn’t feel the lion in his mind, but she responded to his commands (albeit much slower than Red with her ti’ka upgrades), taking off into space. Lance desperately wished that Bo was with him.

“Who’s in the Black Lion?” Pidge yelled as Lance booted up the coms system again, blocking a laser from one of the stolen Sincline ships.

“That would be Number Three!” Coran cried from the Castle Ship, and an assortment of surprised noises came through the coms.

“Now that we have all of the lions, let’s form Voltron,” Keith yelled from Red, and Lance felt anger flare in his chest. He was still embarrassed about his reaction to the kiss. The fact that it hadn’t really meant anything. He tightened his hold on Black’s controls and joined the other lions in formation.

They flew for a good few seconds, but Voltron never formed and they were forced to break apart. Lance had a suspicion that it was his fault since he still couldn’t feel any of the paladins or lions besides Red, but then Keith was shouting new orders (and Lance thought maybe _he_ should’ve been the one doing it since he was in the Black Lion, after all), but he ended up trying to keep up with one of Lotor’s generals in a one-on-one.

If Lance had been in Red, he would’ve been able to take them out with ease. As it was, Keith wasn’t catching on to the new Mana’Lo-an controls very quickly and flying about as well as a new cadet in his first simulator while Lance was getting frustrated with how slow and unresponsive Black was.

He couldn’t see the face of whoever was piloting the Sincline ship in front of him, but he felt a familiar rage resurfacing in his mind. And now was the ideal time for him to embrace it. Lance dodged a barrage of lasers, bouncing off of asteroids as quickly as Black could go. He could still feel Red in the back of his mind, an overwhelming feeling of frustration due to Keith’s ineptitude at piloting her.

The other paladins were yelling, telling each other to ‘look out’ and occasionally requesting backup from the Castle Ship. Lance wondered what the Voltron from the alternate universe sounded like when they were fighting. If Lance were in charge, he’s sure that he would tell all of the paladins to shut up. But something about that thought felt incredibly _wrong._

Lance was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable, even as he continued his assault on the Sincline ship, his hits not doing any noticeable damage. (Keith could be obliterating these ships in Red if he had any clue what he was doing.)

The situation just seemed off to Lance. He was piloting the Black Lion, he couldn’t feel the other paladins, and the new thoughts that he was having… the ever-present rage. It was terrifying, but not enough to falter mid-battle. Not as terrifying as the dark energy he had been shot with on multiple occasions that was still coursing through his veins. Not as terrifying as the thought of Bo, all alone on the Castle Ship. And not as terrifying as the fact that somehow, Shiro and maybe Lotor knew what had happened to Lance. They knew about the alternate reality.

The callous words still echoed through Lance’s head. They were words that haunted his nightmares, his every waking hour. Words that Ham’Ah had assured him were meaningless, that Molly and Klammer had said didn’t change who he was. Magie’s necklace was meant to represent the idea those words directly contradicted.L

But even Lance could tell he was irrevocably changed, and Keith could tell after talking to him for two minutes. He was a new creature, and he didn’t belong here.

The other lions weren’t holding up very well against the Sincline ships and Lance could see the pod that Shiro had taken getting smaller and smaller. Then there was a flash of purple, causing all of the ships to cease their attacks -- the lions stopped and stared at the expanding energy while the Sincline ships zoomed off towards it.

“Is that…?” Pidge started, trailing off in awe.

“A wormhole.”

It looked like one of Allura’s wormholes, except it was dark and purple. It reminded Lance of the energy from the dick cannon. _Druid magic._

“They're trying to escape!” Keith called. Lance bit his tongue.

“Haggar. It has to be Haggar,” Allura murmured over the coms. “She must have gained the ability. But how?”

“We can’t worry about that now. We have to make sure we get Shiro back!”

“But Shiro’s not Shiro anymore,” Hunk piped up, sounding nervous and unsure.

Lance was mad. He knew he could close the distance if he had Red. But he was stuck in Black…

“I know, but something is wrong with him. The Galra or Lotor have to be behind it. You all know he would never give up on us. We can’t give up on him!” Keith was saying, probably preparing to do something stupid.

“Keith, you won’t be able to close that distance in time. There’s a red button, the… the third row and second column on the right-most array! If you time it right, that’ll give your thrusters a huge kick and you’ll make it through the wormhole.”

Lance hadn’t used the button before, mostly because he had a limited supply of fauntatonium. But Keith was desperate, Lance could feel it bleeding through Red’s bond and coming back to him. And Lance wasn’t petty enough to try to stop Keith from saving Shiro. If he were the same man he’d been on _Carmen IV,_ it could’ve been a very different story, though.

“Got it,” came the clipped reply.

Lance could only watch through the windshield of the Black Lion as the man he hadn’t seen in over two years left him behind again, slipping through the wormhole just before it collapsed. It seemed like a cruel cycle. First Keith leaves, then Lance does. But to these people, Lance hadn’t ever left. They hadn’t even noticed that he’d been gone.

_So really, it was just Keith, leaving Lance again and again._

And as Lance floated out in space, surrounded by trillions of twinkling stars and Galran wreckage, he realized that he was sitting in the _Black Lion._ He remembered stabbing his alternate self, shooting each of the paladins in the head. He should never have gotten into this lion.

Lance fought back the urge to vomit as he sat in a lion that refused to acknowledge his existence. Wherever the wormhole had gone, it was far enough away that Lance could no longer feel Red. There was an eerie silence over the coms. They were down two paladins. And Lance was down a lion and a wolf.

Bo wouldn’t have been hurt if Lance had never come back. Theoretically, if no time had passed in this reality, Lance could’ve stayed in the alternate reality indefinitely with no consequences. And Bo wouldn’t have been hurt, Shiro wouldn’t have gone mad, Keith wouldn’t have broken Lance’s heart and then fucked off to God knows where.

Lance may have finally been home, but he’d never felt more helpless and alone.

And he had nothing to ground him but a sky full of stars and the all too familiar feeling of lightheadedness due to blood loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, _Past the Mourning Sun!_ Holy shit, what a wild ride. Hopefully it's obvious that this is NOT THE END since poor Lance never got to spill his guts to the team and is under the impression that Keith doesn't give a shit about him??? This was all action and PTSD-inducing, so next up we'll have the actual PTSD >:)
> 
>  **This is part one of a series, which I’m planning on making two other parts for.** But right now, I was considering taking a break to write some more one-shots. Hop on over to my [Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/) to yell at me about things I have written and things I _should_ write and keep on eye on what I’m up to!
> 
> [ **Here's a post with more info.** ](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/post/620823561974792192/past-the-mourning-sun-is-complete)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Much, much, much love to everyone who stuck with me until the end <3
> 
> **Edit: improved Spanish thanks to TheFlyingJerk!**

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me feedback I hunger for your criticism (but be nice or I’ll cry)
> 
> UPDATE: I just made myself a really shitty [Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/), which I have absolutely no idea how to use, but I really like talking to you guys so if you want to connect with me there, please do! I'll take fic prompts thru there, now :)
> 
> Well, thanks for reading! Until my next update...


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